


Laconic

by Flying_Freely



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Gladiators, Golden Age, Pits of Kaon, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2999852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flying_Freely/pseuds/Flying_Freely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TFP-Pre-War. Even during the Golden Age, Kaon's Gladitorial Pits were filled with death, corruption, and... temptations. Though one of the highest ranking Gladiators, even Soundwave wasn't immune to the inevitable disasters and desires that came with allowing an inexperienced Gladiator femme into the arena. Soundwave/OC -Will eventually veer into TFP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have no idea why I'm starting another Transformers fic. It's probably because of my newfound obsession over Soundwave. He says one line in the entire Prime Series and I'm in love with him.
> 
> So, this starts out as a Pre-War fic. The story takes place to before the war, then slowly going into it, all the way to after TFP. I won't re-write every scene, but I will interpret my OC somehow.
> 
> This is Soundwave/OC, just a heads up.
> 
> So, here's my first attempt at writing Gladiator Soundwave.
> 
> I do not own Transformers Prime or any of its characters. They all belong to Hasbro. I only own my OC..

_**Laconic: (of a person, speech, or style of writing) using very few words** _

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Soundwave didn't pay attention to newcomers.

It was simple: they either perished on their first orn, or the pitiful bots made it lucky to stay mixed in the lower ranks. It was nothing Soundwave worried about. Being a high ranking Gladiator, the only time he ever interacted with them was in battles.

Though, recently the mechs had become bolder after his fight with Megatronus. Soundwave had been reduced to second in the Pits after he had lost to the silver mech. Megatronus managed to beat him, albeit by so little. Apparently, that was enough to make other bots think he was becoming weak. Soundwave would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little bothered by that.

Though, that wasn't Soundwave's main issue. During his fight, Megatronus had audaciously deemed him as an equal, of being a worthy opponent.

Any bot would have been honored to be on the silver mech's good side. However, those words meant nothing to Soundwave.

There weren't many mechs one could trust in the Gladiator Pits and Soundwave wasn't one to let his guard down too easily. Betrayal was common, and more in pits. For now, both he and the other Gladiator would barely remain acquaintances.

If Soundwave were to feel one thing towards Megatronus, it would be a small fraction of gratitude. Soundwave was alive because of him, although, he was almost offline because of him, too. Megatronus' actions were suspicious, and for now, it was best to keep to himself.

His one rule was to observe and keep silent.

Not that Soundwave had much use for what he picked up. His sense of awareness was only useful for observing battle strategies. Having space for data wasn't particularly useful when attempting to fight off other savage mechs, though.

Or fighting off femmes as well.

The memory flashed back in Soundwave's processor. It hadn't been more than a few cycles since that day.

That cycle he had been out in the stands, watching two mechs clean the arena. The area had been emptied; not many Cybertronians stayed in the after-glow of the fight. Most of them relinquished once their source of entertainment disappeared. Soundwave found it distasteful.

The only reason he had stayed after the fight was because his training had been completed for the cycle. He'd usually only stay in his private quarters, but he'd always had a knack for observing in secret. It was in his programming and it wasn't particularity surprising for him to stay out there.

Soundwave had settled for watching the lower faction mechs clean up residue from the arena. Not particularly interesting. It rarely was. Most of the time, the mechs spoke about buying their freedom or overthrowing the owners, nothing Soundwave really paid attention to.

Disrupting the usual routine was pede-steps. The hard clanking and shuttering of floor boards became louder than the mechs' chatter. The loud metal had clanked harshly against the sturdy floor of the stands. The steps reverberated across the whole arena, capturing the attention of the mechs cleaning it. The pede-steps gradually made their way closer, each one becoming louder.

The sudden disruption was enough to impel Soundwave to get a better view. The sound of the pedes didn't stop, rather continued clanking forward until the owner of the steps was revealed.

A dark-colored frame had appeared in the arena, seeming to fall from the upper stands. The Cybertronian landed on its knee joints, venting and cooling fans on high.

Even though the Cybertronian had its faceplates hidden, Soundwave could clearly tell that it was a femme.

Femmes weren't usually seen in Kaon, and if they were, they most certainly weren't seen alone. They were usually with high caste members, always accompanied by a high caste mech. Others were just pleasure drones.

Though, the dark painted femme in front of him was completely alone. No one seemed to come for her as she vented on the arena grounds, her helm kept low to the ground. The mechs stopped what they were doing and stared at her, a morbid curiosity in their optics.

When the femme finally raised her helm, Soundwave saw her jolt up to her pedes. He studied her physical appearance. Despite being slightly stained, her armor shone more than the average mechs. Her optics were also green, leading Soundwave to believe that this was a high caste bot.

The femme glanced at the mechs, quickly backing up. She visibly trembled under their leering gazes.

Soundwave noticed that she didn't immediately call for help.

"What's a femme doing in these Pits?" one of the mechs asked tauntingly, walking towards the Cybertronian. The femme continued to recoil. The mech's posture was akin of a predator stalking its prey.

"I don't know, but it sure is lucky of us. Primus has heard our prayers," the other mech said, giving a gruff, malicious chuckle. Soundwave watched intently. He didn't make any move to help the femme.

He was a strong believer that Cybertronians should be able to defend one's self or perish. He _especially_ wasn't going to aid a femme who likely sat comfortably in a higher caste. Not while he fought his way through every drop of energon. It would be the stupidity of the femme that would be the end of her.

Soundwave knew he was losing interest in the pitiful sight. Just as he was about to leave, he heard a cluster of metal.

He snapped his helm back and was less than surprised to see the femme with a weapon in her servos. No doubt it was from the Gladiator that had been terminated. The blue energon that stained the broken sword proved it.

"S-stay back!" commanded the femme. The two mechs laughed at her empty threat. The quivering femme held up the broken sword. It shook in her servos. Soundwave stood in his spot, watching the events unfold. Though, his processor was already made up: he would not help the femme.

"Put down the sword before you hurt yourself, femme," the mech laughed.

The femme's fear quickly morphed into indignation. She gulped and bought it in the mechs direction. He laughed again and made a move to snatch away the broken sword. The femme quickly took it away from his grasp.

"Go ahead. Strike us," the mech dared, "Here, I'll turn my helm so you can strike me right _here._ "

They sniggered at her attempt. Soundwave watched with a newfound interest.

The femme's startled expression slowly morphed. Her grip visibly tightened on the sword, and her pedes stepped closer. With a fierce cry, the femme brung the sword down. It clashed with one of the mech's legs. The mech cried out in pain as he fell to the arena floors. Energon stained the femme's servos and splattered the ground. The mech's legs weren't broken, but most likely very wounded.

The other mech growled in anger as he watched his comrade wither in pain. He roared at the femme, knocking the sword out of her servos. With a curled fist, he stuck at the femme, making her drop to the floors. He heard her slight shriek of pain as she dropped onto her side.

Her armor was dented and she looked up at the mech with hatred. The mech grabbed her neck and pulled her up. Sensitive wires in her neck were forcefully pulled. The femme found herself hanging in the fist of the larger mech.

Her servos grabbed the fist that held her, attempting to break free.

"Now, now, _femme._ If you beg for forgiveness, I'll let you live long enough to know what pleasure feels like." the mech wryly snarled. The femme choked out a simple response.

"Go to hell," she hoarsely cursed. This made the mech furious, but before he could tighten his grip on her, her servos stuck out on him. Her sharp fingers made contact with him a great number of times. Soundwave was attentive enough to notice that the femme was sporting claws.

The mech yelled out and fell to the ground next to his other fallen comrade. The femme was dropped to the floor. She landed on her knee joints and coughed. The commotion was enough to capture the attention of any nearby mechs, more importantly, the ones who ran the place.

As mechs came, Soundwave was also drawn closer, curious enough to see how the events with the femme would end.

One of the main owners stepped forward, looking absolutely livid. Optics were narrowed towards the two mechs struggling to stand. Meanwhile, the femme stood up, a mixture of anxiety and anger in her optics.

"What's going on here?!" the owner asked loudly. His voice rung with impatience and anger. The two mechs shifted under the glare of the mech above them.

"I-It was that femme! She did this!" one of the mechs stuttered. The owner only now realized that the femme was close to them. She slowly inched away from the owner and other Gladiators who stared at her. The owner's attention directed at the energon on her claws.

The owner roughly grabbed onto the femme's arm, pulling her to look straight into his optics. The female yelped and fear quickly overcame her green optics.

Soundwave watched as she held the owner's gaze. No Gladiator spoke, afraid that the owner might lash out. That was never good; it always ended badly for the Gladiators when the owners weren't pleased.

A certain tension ran throughout the arena grounds.

The femme held herself in a way that made it look like she was trying not to shake. The owner's optics began to drift all over the femme's frame, taking in every little detail. The femme stiffened under the leering gaze.

"You did this?" the owner asked, tightening his grip on the femme's arm. The dark colored femme nervously nodded, her movements becoming frantic with every word. "You come on to _my_ arena and damage _my_ property?"

The femme didn't respond, rather averted her gaze elsewhere. The owner didn't seem at all satisfied with this. He used his other servo to grab her helm and directed it towards his optics.

"Look at me," he demanded coldly. The femme's optics narrowed. Though, this didn't fool the owner. He wryly chuckled. "I can sense your fear, _femme._ Your optics reek of it."

When the owner broke optic contact with the dark-colored femme, he turned around to face the Gladiators. His grip didn't loosen on her for a klik. She stumbled as he bought her to face the other mechs.

"What do you think we should do with her, mechs?" the owner asked, "We have a whole variety of possibilities." The arena reverberated with sly laughter. This caused the femme to shiver.

Soundwave was the only one who stood silent, as always. He knew that the mechs in this low caste craved a femme's touch. Most Gladiators didn't have enough currency to go to the whorehouse where femmes personally pleasured them. If femmes ever willingly came to seek out a mech from the Gladiator pits, it was rare that they came to a lesser-known Gladiator; most of them preferred the more high-ranking ones, ones they knew that could pay. Soundwave had a fair deal of femmes that sought him out, though he rarely accepted.

Soundwave had too much dignity to say that he was as lust-hungry as the mechs around him. He wasn't desperate enough to completely lose himself desire.

"Who knows, maybe this femme could be useful for me as well," the owner lowly laughed, the resonant sound full of malice. With a new burst of strength, the femme violently jolted her arm away from the owner's grip.

She looked at the mechs with bewilderment. The femme proceeded to back up, only to be stopped by Gladiators coming from behind. She gasped and turned to the owner, her optics shining with anxiety and anger. She fisted her servos.

"I-I won't do it!" exclaimed the femme. Her movements become more alert as the mechs pushed her into a circle. The owner gave a cruel laugh. Soundwave watched the femme's pathetic attempts.

"Willingly or not, you'll eventually obey, femme. Not only do you owe me _,_ but you are in my territory! Call for help, I dare you. If someone comes to your aid, I'll let you go. If not, then you're mine," he snarled, "Go on. Do it." The femme began to shake again. She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth as well.

"I'd rather fight Gladiators and die than become an interface slave!" the femme proclaimed. She looked at her energon stained claws and gave a forceful flick. A splash of blue energon landed on the ground, on the owner's pede. The femme glared at him, obviously making up her mind.

It was clear to Soundwave that she was absolutely afraid. Similarly like the mechs, he stared at her, though unlike the others, the optics behind his mask only focused on her faceplates, rather than her adult frame.

The owner smirked, giving the femme a knowing stare. The femme's confidence immediately died down once she saw this. She shrunk back, running into the chassis of other mechs. The owner's optics brightened as a chuckle escaped his mouth.

"Interesting suggestion you made there," the owner dangerously chuckled, "Maybe you can be of better use." the mech dug his servos into her arm again. The femme struggled, but quickly stopped when she saw his glare.

"You are a property of these Gladiator Pits, femme. Your training begins tomorrow. Your first fight is in an orn." stated the owner, "And unless she _fails,_ nobot is to harm her... outside of the arena, that is."

The femmebot stared at the owner in disbelief. "W-what...? I-I wasn't-" she closed her mouth.

"What? You weren't serious? Well, that's a shame because I've already made up my mind. You will work your way up the Gladiatorial ranks like the others, and if you are to fail... my mechs here will gladly take what is left of you," the owner stated, his optics forever boring into the femme's processor.

Soundwave stared for a few kliks longer before making a move to leave. However, the owner quickly glanced at him, seeing that he was the nearest mech in his sight.

"Soundwave, take the femme to the medic and then the inscription areas," the owner commanded, "RocketShield, dispose of the two useless cleaners. The rest of you, back to training!"

The mechs grumbled and murmured among themselves. The chatter seemed to be about the femme that had supposedly joined them.

Soundwave looked at her from behind his visor. He stood cold with indifference. The femme noticed all of the other mechs leave but him. She seemed to understand that he was Soundwave.

Without a word, Soundwave began walking, glancing slightly to see if the femme was following. She tentatively followed him, aware of the gazes she received. The skittish femme stumbled on her pedes before beginning to follow him. She took a deep vent and attempted to compose herself. Her trembling did not go unnoticed.

Soundwave found it pathetically humorous in her attempts to appear indifferent. The femme kept her helm raised, trying to ignore the stares. It was also clear that she was trying to avoid looking directly at him.

She constantly twitched and jumped at any slight movement; her optics kept darting at the surroundings, looking at everything but him. The other Cybertronian kept her distance.

She feared him.

Good.

The owner entrusted him to take the femme to the medic because any other low ranking Gladiator would surely try something with the femme. The owner entrusted him but he didn't feel honored at all. This was a burden to him, knowing that his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He should have left when he had the chance.

Though, Soundwave tried not to think too much of it. He was simply leading the femme. After that, she was no longer his problem. The femme Gladiator would have her own issues to burden with.

A femme Gladiator

The owners were desperate for credits it seemed. He stopped in front of the medic's quarters, suddenly feeling metal clank on his back.

Soundwave reflexively turned around and watched the femme fall to the floor. She let out a slight groan and hesitantly raised her green optics.

Her optics finally made contact with Soundwave's visor. Her optics widened as the tall and slender mech stared down at her.

Soundwave didn't make any move to help her, rather stared down to see what she would do.

He relished in the sight. The dark-colored femme stood completely at his mercy. Her green optics stared fearfully up at him. She sat on her aft, her slender legs moving together and stiffening. Her chassis rose and fell as she vented.

She was completely at his mercy; it was completely up to him if he ended her life. All it would take was one slice.

Soundwave slightly turned his helm towards the medic's room. The femme scrambled up, a blue blush staining her faceplates. She stubbornly looked away.

"S-sorry," she muttered. Soundwave didn't reply. He kept his helm turned towards the medics room. The femme followed as he walked in. The old medic stood there. Soundwave's visor was turned towards the ebony medic.

"Soundwave...? I wasn't expecting to repair you." the medic asked. Soundwave shook his helm and pointed at the femme. The bot seemed to take the hint and hesitantly moved closer to the medic. The medic's faceplates soon relaxed as he came to the realization. "Ah yes, one of the owners just contacted me about the femme. Though, he didn't mention you were bringing her," the medic replied.

Soundwave stood silent.

This seemed fine for the medic as he motioned for the femme to come closer. "C'mon! I don't bite, they'll be plenty of that for the arenas." the medic chuckled as his optics shamelessly scanned over the femme's frame. The young bot seemed to have stiffened visibly. She slowly and cautiously stepped towards the metal berth. The medic patted it, and the femme soon climbed onto it. Her claws gripping the edges.

The medic scanned the femme as she struggled to appear unaffected. He seemed to be a bit too close for the femme's liking.

Again, she refused to look at Soundwave, but he knew better. Every other klik, her optics would inch close enough to catch a glimpse of him. When Soundwave's helm showed signs of moving, the femme quickly averted her optics elsewhere.

"So, how's a femme like you get caught in the pits?" the medic asked casually. The wonderful silence was ruined by the gossiping medic. The femme's optics hesitantly turned to him as she took a deep vent. She took a moment before answering. The medic raised an optic-ridge, encouraging her to answer.

"I was running," she stated.

"From who?" the medic asked, becoming intrigued by the information he was receiving. No doubt the gossip would spread soon. Soundwave carefully listened for the femme's response.

"From bots who were trying to kill me," the bot replied.

"And who would that be?" the medic asked.

"My carrier and sire," the femme responded. The medic began wiping the energon from her claws to check for any wounds on her servos. The medic raised an optic-ridge.

"Oh really? And why would they be trying to do that?" the medic chuckled. The femme seemed to take offense as her optics narrowed.

"I hated my caste," she said. The femme slightly winced as her servos were being repaired. The medic went towards her neck-cables and began reassembling loose parts.

"Oh? You hated your caste? That's a new one. Pray tell, why? What's so bad about living with high-grade energon, and plenty of currency to spend? Too good for you?" the medic asked.

The medic obviously assumed that the femme was from a higher caste. Soundwave could see why. Many high caste members had blue, or sometimes green optics. As he suspected before, the femme's armor seemed a bit too shiny.

She didn't respond, rather glanced at Soundwave before looking down at her pedes. The medic didn't push any further as he fixed her major dents. Soundwave simply stared at her. He found that he didn't really care much about the femme, but at the very least... he was slightly intrigued.

"Refuel with whatever energon they give to you. Nothing major, but I suggest you recharge well before training." the medic prescribed. The femme nodded. Soundwave looked straight at her and began to walk.

"Soundwave!" the medic called. Soundwave halted and slightly turned his helm towards the mech. The medic smirked and tossed him a red-colored cylinder. Soundwave caught it with ease and stared at the liquid in his servos. "Thought you'd like to do the honors," the medic stated.

Soundwave ignored the medic's comment and exited. The femme stumbled on her pedes before rushing to follow him. She gave the medic a few last glances, only to be met with a leering stare.

They walked in silence. The femme's optics fixed themselves on Soundwave's back. He could easily feel her gaze.

"S-soundwave..?" the femme asked. Soundwave didn't respond as they continued walking. He remained impassive, not even tilting his helm to humor the femme.

She had said his name directly and there was something about it he didn't like. As far as he knew, he could still extinguish her spark in the next klik. "Where a-are we going?" she asked.

The tall mech didn't reply. He merely continued to walk, refusing to show any signs that he had heard her. The femme seemed to be irked by this.

As soon as Soundwave sensed a metal object near him, he turned around and used his sharp servos to grasp whatever the disturbance was. He realized that he was gripping the femmes wrist.

Judging by the way her optics greatly widened, the femme seemed astonished. Her mouth was agape and it seemed that she couldn't find anything to say. Fear adorned her once more. Soundwave realized that she was attempting to make some kind of contact with him... and he would have none of it.

If he wasn't sparring, or in an arena, nobody would touch Soundwave. It was a simple rule every mech there learned to follow. Yet here he was, glaring at the femme for breaking that rule.

The femme seemed to feel it. Her spark thumped violently in her chassis, and Soundwave was able to hear it from his position. After a few more moments, when it seemed like his grip was getting tighter, he let go of her wrist. The femme gulped and quickly ran behind him, catching up. She used her servo to rub her wrist.

The newcomer soon realized that talking or trying to make contact with Soundwave was futile.

Again, he could feel her optics rest on him. A deep silence filled the passageways.

They reached the inscribing areas after an eternity. Soundwave was quick to start typing. He turned his helm in the femme's direction.

He stared at her and pointed to the inscribers. She stood there, wide optics staring at him with a mix of fear and confusion. He realized that the femme wasn't understanding to come closer.

Soundwave turned his frame towards the femme. She flinched back, but he didn't stop. He continued to walk towards her, his frame beginning to loom over her tense one. His helm was turned at her, and a long finger pointed towards the inscribers. The femme's green optics widened in realization. She tore her gaze away from him.

The femme slipped from in front of Soundwave to the area behind him. He watched as she typed, her claws skillfully moving, the sound of clicks filling Soundwave's audios. Her sharp digits danced across the inscriber, similarly like his.

He slowly walked over, his visor tilting, ever so slightly, to watch what she typed.

There wasn't much to type. It would be simple for her. She was a newcomer, probably with little experience in combat. The only thing Soundwave did not expect was her designation.

Her designation was Darkstrike. He assumed it had something to do with her dark paint.

As the femme finished typing, Soundwave quietly approached her, the red cylinder in his servos glowing. Just as the femme was turning around, he had roughly dug the sharp point of the cylinder into the back of her neck cables.

The femme hissed out in pain. Soundwave stood emotionless at the femme's display. He wasn't bothered. He knew this was going to be done sooner or later, so he might as well get it done now. He considered himself being generous towards the sorry femme. If she had anticipated his actions, he was sure that she would have felt more pain.

The red cylinder quickly emptied in her. Once he saw that it was fully empty, Soundwave removed the cylinder, disregarding the femme's groan. The cylinder dropped to the floor, making a slight clank.

Soundwave observed the femme's closed optics. They were clenched shut. When they slowly opened, they blinked a couple times. He looked straight at them. They were no longer the green hue as they had been before, rather a crimson red, just like the other Gladiators.

Gladiators' optics were always red. This was to show other castes that they were fighters. Their bright color of optics distinguished the Gladiators from other castes. Now that the femme was inscribed as a competitor, anybot that came to the pits would be able to bet on her. Not that they would.

"W-what was that..?" the femme asked, looking at her servos and arms, testing if they were functional. Soundwave didn't reply. He had his visor turned towards her, a sign that he was definitely watching her.

He looked into her optics. He was able to read the distressed femme perfectly. Her emotions were laid out in from of him like an open data-pad. He could see her hidden rage, her fear, her slight interest... and _there_ it was. The tiny fraction of innocence still laid in the femme's optics.

It irked Soundwave immensely to see that tiny part of innocence. The femme didn't deserve to live. Once again, it made him want to wrap a servo around her neck and offline her himself. Innocence only served to be terminated.

He realized that his visor had gotten significantly closer to the femme's faceplates. He stared at her in a very threatening manner. His visor had gotten close enough that Darkstrike was able to see her reflection. She gasped.

"My optics...! They're... they're _red!_ " she exclaimed. Soundwave made no comment. He simply backed up and began walking. He glanced at her and saw her posture slump, and her optics rest on the ground.

She muttered soft things to herself while her servos rubbed her arms in a comforting manner. Soundwave turned away, not wanting to watch the pitiful sight. While the femme had yet to shed tears, Soundwave was in no mood to listen what the femme wept about.

After that, he had left the femme to herself in her chambers. The femme had wordlessly entered her new room, but Soundwave was able to catch the slight gesture of her optics narrowing directly at him. She was studying him, This femme didn't even have the right to _glance_ at him, much less glare.

The next time he encountered her, he would make sure to quickly rectify that. He would teach the femme that she could not do as she pleased. She was in the Gladiator pits now, playing by the rules of a lower caste.

Now in the present, Soundwave had berated himself for letting her consume his thoughts. He would leave her into her own pit and let her learn. _Darkstrike_... would be a waste of time; she was simply a femme, unworthy of his time.

That's how it remain. Newcomers usually didn't matter to him. Many of them failed in their first fight, and he was sure that the same would happen with the femme. If she managed to last through training _and_ her first fight, then Soundwave would have to think twice before underestimating her. Although, to him, it was unwise to think the femme would be capable of much.

So, he would watch. And he would observe. Soundwave would see how long she could survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1! This won't be many chapters if I continue to write at this pace.
> 
> As for the optic changing, just a quick idea. I wanted the femme to come from a higher caste, yet still eventually have red optics for later on. Just something I want for future references.
> 
> That is what I have so far, but I can't wait to write some more! Please give me your thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you to the people who were kind enough to leave me a review! You were all very wonderful.
> 
> Also, I realized that I made a mistake last chapter. Megatronus' optics were blue before the war really started. I'm going with the fact that he joined the Pits early so changing optics didn't happen until after.
> 
> Just in case there is some confusion~
> 
> Frame- Body
> 
> Servos- Hands
> 
> Pede/s- Foot/Feet
> 
> Audios- Ear
> 
> Optic- Eye
> 
> Optic-ridge- Eyebrow
> 
> Denta- teeth
> 
> ~Time~
> 
> Joor- 13 hours
> 
> Cycle- Day
> 
> Klik- Second
> 
> Orn- 13 days

**Clairvoyant- _exceptionally insightful, able to foresee the future_**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Darkstrike woke up early the next cycle. It wasn't like she could get much recharge in the first place. How could she? It would be waking up to the first cycle of her new life... it would be petrifying. She still had trouble processing it all.

Darkstrike was a femme Gladiator. A. Femme. Gladiator.

How was she supposed to use that to her advantage? She would suffer, she knew. Yet, there wasn't much Darkstrike could do about it. The was the consequence of opening her mouth in the first place.

She had taken the wrong turn while running away from her assassinators and suddenly her freedom had been stolen from her.

No matter what others tried to convince her of, she knew one thing: that things could always get much worse.

She had always been used to having some power, even if it was only of her life. Now, even her own individual rights had been taken away and she was treated like property. Darkstrike sympathized with the mechs in these Pits. Even she knew that it was unjust and wrongful that they had to withstand tremendous amounts of suffering just to remain online!

Granted, Darkstrike was now in their pedes.

She shook her helm. There was no good in sympathizing them when she could do nothing about it.

Her newly-colored optics looked up at the ceiling of her chambers.

 _Red_ _optics_.

Darkstrike didn't mind her new color of optics. It erased the memories of the ridiculous caste she was previously in. She was growing weary of her green ones anyway. Darkstrike despised the color green and how the color oh-so-proudly represented her old home.

Green symbolized growth, harmony, hope, and peace. Green, as opposed to red, meant safety. Though Darkstrike _knew_ (and preferred to think) that green was associated with ambition, greed, and jealousy. It was also associated with cowardice and discord. All which she thought most suited her previous caste. To Darkstrike, they were all a hypocritical group of Cybertronians that dared called themselves peacemakers.

Now, her optics were red to symbolize her current low-caste. Red meant war, danger, strength, power, and determination. The color was meant to be affiliated with vigor, willpower, rage, anger, malice, and wrath. It was honest and true to the caste it represented: _Gladiators_.

It would soon be her turn. She couldn't hide from the reality that she was going to have to fight with her nonexistent strength. Darkstrike may not have had brute strength like the rest of the mechs, but she had their brute rage.

As much as it _pained_ her to admit it, Darkstrike knew she had let her anger guide her towards violence. (Which eventually led to the disowning of her creators.) There were a couple of times when she would be involved in a skirmishes so any potential she had for fighting wasn't completely unused. Darkstrike's problem was that she hadn't honed such skills in an official battle. Her lack of precision, skill, and strategy would lead her lower than the Pits.

She couldn't rely only on pure instinct anymore. Darkstrike was smart enough to know that. She had to pressure herself in training because if she lost her first battle, her next stop would be in the little interface box. Not that being one of the only femme Gladiator wasn't already enough pressure.

Oh, no. She wasn't scared.

Darkstrike was _terrified_.

She stood up from her berth. Darkstrike couldn't deny that she was still tired, though she preferred to get up on her own terms rather than having a mech escort her out. She slowly unlocked her door and was met with the corridors outside her room. They were empty. She began heard gruff voices echo through the halls.

Darkstrike assumed that the mechs were up. She didn't know the procedures there and nobot bothered to explain them to her. That was probably supposed to be Soundwave's job, especially since he was _so_ talkative.

What she needed was energon to fill her tank. She wasn't sure where to get it and going towards the mechs didn't exactly seem promising.

After a few kliks, she finally moved forward. Darkstrike decided that her method would be trial and error. She would experiment and see just how far she could stretch her luck, that is, if she still had any.

Judging by the loud and exuberant voices of the mechs, she inferred that, that might be a place with energon stockings. The medic that spoke with her yesterday suggested that she consume whatever energon they gave her. His statement implied that they were probably going to give her some portion of energon, probably a small one.

Darkstrike nervously made her way through the end of the corridors. Her pedes made silent clanks and she was hoping that nobody would notice her.

There was a door. Darkstrike was greeted by a large group of mechs when she entered. All of them paid her no attention.

Once her optics made contact with a random pair of red ones, the mech began to get the attention of his acquaintances. Little by little, more pairs of optics turned to look at her. Most of them were red, but there were one or two pairs that were blue.

She felt a shiver pass through her back-struts. Darkstrike continued to walk through the small passageway. She nervously glanced at the bots. They all audaciously stared her. It was unnerving and it made her a bit self-conscious. Darkstrike attempted to remain indifferent... just like Soundwave had.

The femme internally scoffed. He was probably staring at her, too.

Her optics scanned the crowd of mechs, secretly searching for only one. When her optics were able to barely _glance_ at Soundwave, her spark nearly leaped out of her chassis. Confused by the sudden reaction, Darkstrike turned away.

Okay, so he wasn't staring at her.

Her impression of Soundwave was that he was a very intimidating mech. Darkstrike was hoping that she would never, ever have to take him on. She was sure that she would easily get beaten. Soundwave was much better armored than she was. His upper body promised a lot of success, as well as his long arms. He didn't even need to say anything for him to cause fear to overcome her spark.

The mech didn't damage her yesterday, but it seemed that his movements projected a threatening tone to him. Unfortunately, Soundwave was the only mech she new so far. Not that it made a different.

Darkstrike was sure that when he got the chance, Soundwave would fight or frag her. She preferred not to dwell on that subject. Not that Darkstrike was particularly interested in making friends there. Her primary focus was to survive.

Darkstrike pointed her optics towards a large counter. She noticed a mech receiving his cube. The femme traveled closer, ignoring the Gladiators' calls.

The mech behind the counter didn't seem particularly interested in her faceplates. Darkstrike wasn't about to say anything or remark about it. What could she be able to say? She was a femme that was frightened and obviously intimidated by the larger mechs. She was an averagely tall femme, but that wasn't really an advantage. There were mechs that were taller and shorter than her, but in the end, most would beat her.

It was also obvious that her useless threats would have no effect on them. Darkstrike was sure that they would merely laugh at her like the bots from yesterday. She was never taken seriously in her previous caste, much less in this one.

"Designation?" the mech asked. His abrupt words were enough to startle Darkstrike out of her thoughts. Her red optics widened at him. The mech returned the stare with open amusement and contempt. The mech chuckled at her. "Do you _know_ your designation?"

Her eyes narrowed with indignation.

"Darkstrike," she stated. The mech chuckled again. He looked down at the datapad. Darkstrike knew what he was doing. Her wide knowledge of technology was able to make her realize the system. It wasn't an entirely complex system. Each mech got a specific amount surplus of energon. Higher numbers next to their names meant more energon. The server checked her off the list.

Darkstrike noticed how the mech was carelessly and probably unintentionally revealed the datapad. Her optics narrowed up at him. The mech hardly regarded her. That was probably for the better.

Letting the trivial fact slide, Darkstrike picked up the energon cube in her servos. She examined the low contents but didn't say anything. At this point, she was grateful to be getting _something._ The flier wordlessly dismissed the mech at the counter. It wasn't as if he would pay attention to her intelligence if she stayed.

Then came picking a seat. Darkstrike realized that there were no actual empty seats in the large room. Some mechs noticed her glancing at the seats.

"If you don't have anywhere to sit, you can sit my lap!" one suggested loudly. Many Gladiators began to suggest likewise. They laughed and stared at the femme for her response. Darkstrike chose not to say anything.

She avoided their dirty stares and went to a secluded corner off to the side. Darkstrike made sure to keep her distance with them; she was sure that they would reach out to touch her if given the chance.

The dark-armored femme sat on the dirty ground of the room. She pushed her legs to herself and looked at her energon cube. She dimmed her audios to avoid listening to the laughter. Her optics lifelessly stared at her energon cube. Darkstrike slowly sipped it, savoring every drop. She took a great intake, not even glancing up to see the half-surprised expressions from the mechs who knew of her previous upper-caste status.

Darkstrike continued to sit there and wait until most stares left her. Her helm rose to see a familiar mech standing up. Her optics watched attentively as he moved towards the door. Soundwave expertly moved passed all the mechs. Unlike the other Gladiators, he disregarded her completely.

Never once did Darkstrike see his visor turned her way. She wasn't sure whether to be offended or not. It should have alleviated her that he didn't care... shouldn't it? The femme stubbornly tore her optics away from him.

_My prime goal is to survive._

She sat there, holding her energon cube. Darkstrike initially planned on sitting in her uncomfortable spot... until she heard the thump of pedesteps. Her optics quickly averted upwards. She clenched her cube. Her claws twitched as she warily narrowed her optics. A group of mechs stared down at her. Darkstrike didn't say anything.

Her systems ran cold.

"How rude of us not to offer the femme a seat."

"We're not being gentlemechs, are we, now?" one slyly chuckled. The three of them laughed at their mock politeness. They were insulting her. They thought themselves superior to her. They were almost as condescending as her previous caste.

"Femme, if you stick with us, and do us a few favors, we can get you through this... terrible experience." one lewdly suggested. She realized to what they were implying. Her optics widened.

Darkstrike curled her claws into a fist. She clenched her denta shut. Her red optics rose to meet theirs. She fought her first instinct to pounce on one of them. Though, her rage would most definitely not be to her advantage. She wouldn't get two steps before she was pummeled.

The femme wasn't sure how skilled the mechs were but it was highly possible that they could easily pin her while she was in her enraged mode.

Darkstrike stood up slowly, her height passing only two of the mechs. One still stood taller than her. She fumed. Her red optics glared at them before returning to their previous dull color. Darkstrike realized that they were baiting her. They were waiting for the moment when she would crumble and fall.

She stared at them dimly before beginning to walk away.

The mechs seemed thoroughly displeased with the response, for the largest one gripped her wrist. She was forcefully pulled into their circle. Her optics widened with bewilderment and fear.

"Running away shows cowardice. You're not a coward, are you, femme?" the mech asked, digging his fingers deeper into her wrist. The mechs around them continued their loud talking, but Darkstrike knew that their optics were on her. They were all watching her. A sudden thought crept up through her processor.

Was Soundwave watching her?

_Wouldn't that be peachy._

Not a nano-klik later, there was a beep. A loud one. The mechs in the room began to stand up and head for the door. The mech snarled at her before smirking.

"Best of luck, femme," he stated. He roughly pushed her away, making her stumble back. Darkstrike glared up at him while rubbing her wrist. The mech ignored her and his group followed him out.

Training was about to begin.

* * *

Darkstrike continually punched the obstacles in front of her. She realized that her stamina and strategies needed much improvement. After countless joors of punching and constantly running and keeping light on her pedes, Darkstrike was beginning to become tired. Her servos were dented, and her claws were beginning to take the impact as well.

She jumped over the spiked metal, but her landing was sloppy and mistimed as she rolled on her side. The spiked metal returned, only to hit her roughly. Being caught off-guard, Darkstrike fell on her chassis. She groaned as she felt energon threatening to leak out of her.

She remained on the ground for a bit, liking the way how comfortable it was. She needed a break. But, it seemed that the other mechs thought differently.

A familiar medium-ranking mech came her way unnoticed. He imprudently kicked her side, hurting it in the process. Darkstrike flipped to her back, and watched the familiar mech from earlier, now above her.

"Get up, femme! Your training hasn't finished yet," the mech commanded. Darkstrike attempted to get up, only for her limbs to wobble, causing her to fall back to the floors. She let out a hoarse curse.

"Figures. A femme... a Gladiator? How could Explo even _think_ about making you a Gladiator? High castes are only good for one thing, and one thing only: looking pretty and talking bullslag," the mech snarled. Giving the femme another forceful kick, he left her to herself.

She gave a few coughs and gripped the floor beneath her. Darkstrike seethed. She was furious yet she felt utterly useless. Darkstrike didn't want to let a self-proclaimed mech believe to be her superior.

Her claws twitched, and something in her systems heated up. The dark claws uncontrollably shook, but Darkstrike ignored the sensation.

She moved her arms to support her weight. They wobbled, but Darkstrike forced them to stay put. Firmly planting a pede on the ground, she slowly stood up, clutching her side. Darkstrike moved to grab a broken piece of metal on the floor. Looking at the mech who had stupidly turned his back to her, she threw it in his direction, never taking her optics off the target.

The mech immediately turned around, looking enraged. His optics widened with slight disbelief and anger when he realized that it was her doing. Without saying a word, or even returning the arrogant expression he once wore, the femme turned around to resume her training.

Just as she turned towards her obstacles, she saw him, Soundwave. His helm was turned her way which suggested that he was watching the scene. Darkstrike stiffened to a near painful degree.

He had been _watching_.

Her spark felt like it was trying to lurch out of her chest. She forced herself to turn away and tried to ignore the stares she received. Darkstrike prepared for the worst as the medium-ranking mech came her way.

* * *

Darkstrike was aching. She was absolutely exhausted. She had scratches all over her paint, there were dents on her frame, energon leaked through, her protoform ached, and her legs were just about to give out. They had commanded her, pushed her, worn her out, thrown punches at her, kicked her, leered at her, threatened her, yelled at her, and even humiliated her.

Yet, she couldn't have felt more at home.

It was a good pain she felt. One she was not accustomed to, but that didn't mean that Darkstrike didn't welcome it. There was no hypocrisy. No lies. Only pure, harsh, painful reality.

The medium-ranking mech, which was designated as RocketShield, had truly punished her for her acts of disrespect towards a higher ranking Gladiator. Apparently, his torture classified as "training."

_Frag him._

The femme laid on her berth. Her limbs were sprawled out as she refused to move. She chuckled at the ceiling. The smile didn't leave her lips. She had an absolutely horrible cycle, but at least there were no shadows.

Sure, it was unpredictable but Darkstrike would no longer have to worry about how things would be when it would truly become hard. She was now living in hard times, and it would surely only get harder.

Her red optics finally represented something she was. Something she was proud to be. And, for the first time, her spark had been at peace.

* * *

That femme lasted through the first cycle. _Barely_.

Soundwave observed her well. He noticed a couple things. He noticed how restrained she was. Any fighter would have lashed out when given the chance. It displeased him and lowered his expectations. Not that he had much for the femme.

He saw the group of mechs toy with her. Soundwave thought that the femme would try a weak attempt on them, or perhaps cower back like a mewling sparkling. Instead, the femme had wanted to leave the mechs to themselves.

That would have been wise; however, considering her reputation, she was nothing more than an experiment. Until she won her first fight, she was as insignificant as the ground they walked on.

Darkstrike only succeeded in angering them. For a moment, he had seen the clear rage in the femme's optics. It was a burning fire, waiting to be fully ignited. Much to his disappointment, she had extinguished this fire, and let the mechs intimidate her.

The femme lacked the fighter instincts. She was accustomed to conformity and it would be difficult for her to break the habit before bloodlust would be firmly ingrained in her programming.

Soundwave was less displeased when he had seen her train. The femme had determination. She didn't seem afraid to lash out on the obstacles, but his suspicions were confirmed: she had no previous fighting experience.

She was a fool who had much to learn.

There was also that moment when he had let the femme know that he was watching. Her red optics looked directly at his visor. The femme had immediately stiffened, which pleased him. His first intention hadn't been to frighten her, but it seemed that not many actions were required to achieve this.

Soundwave wasn't always watching her. The femme had just managed to get in his sights. It was purely coincidental, and it was beginning to become an inconvenience for him. Similarly like when he saw her limping to her chambers after training.

She had managed to stay one piece. Darkstrike had survived her first cycle. _Not_ _impressive_. Now, she had to survive the rest of them.

Soundwave shook his helm. The fragging femme was the only interesting piece of entertainment there, ironic coming from a Gladiator who entertained an audience himself. That wasn't of importance, though.

That femme, the newcomer, was a whole datapad waiting to be unraveled.

He was cautious, aware of everything. Many were skeptical about this femme, including himself. However, if Soundwave prided himself in anything, it would be knowing more than others. So he'd keep an optic on her, _for now_.

* * *

As expected, the orn went by in a flash.

It went by too fast, in Darkstrike's opinion. Granted, an orn wasn't long on Cybertron.

She practiced long and hard. Her paint had gotten less shiner, ridding her of any evidence of her being in any higher caste. She wore minor dents, and her aches had eventually gone away. Though, the worst had yet to come. Darkstrike expected herself to be most affected by the battle itself than the training.

The mechs didn't lessen their taunting or humiliation. Darkstrike had only gotten more tolerant of it. Lucky for her, they hadn't grabbed her again. Her anger was taken out at the obstacles, but she was still so weak in comparison to the others.

The only upside was that Darkstrike discovered that if she avoided RocketShield, she could train on her own. She hoped that she would always only train on her own. Much to Darkstrike's relief, she didn't need to spar with any of the mechs; that was mostly optional. Darkstrike knew it would aid her greatly to actually spar and get a feel of what it would be like, but she had denied herself this.

Darkstrike knew that if she failed she might as well have been programmed to be a pleasure drone.

It was time to see if her training had paid off. Darkstrike knew that she needed to be more 'efficient,' but one orn wasn't exactly a long time. Nor was it a good time for her to get an upgrade. Darkstrike didn't have durable armor to battle in. She had no weapons to defend herself with either. Weaponry wasn't allowed in her first fight.

All she had to do was fight the mech until one of them was unable to. This would be a combat fighting, no weapons allowed.

If the femme won, she got her upgrade. She would get more appropriate armor for future battles. The armor Darkstrike currently had was thinner than she would have liked it to be for fights. The thickest armor was positioned at her wings.

Despite popular belief, she was a flyer, not a seeker. Seekers constantly craved flight and held their wings up high in pride. Her wings were always lowered, not to mention a dark color, so they were almost never noticed. Though the mechs mostly looked at her frame, so Darkstrike wouldn't be surprised if they found out she was a flier after a vorn.

Darkstrike could only hope she would last that long.

Another thing she would also receive was an actual weapon to defend herself with. That would certainly be helpful. She noticed that a lot of the mechs there didn't carry around their weapons, or they simply didn't have any. Darkstrike realized that they preferred brute strength as a means of winning.

Unfortunately, the only weapon of choice was a sword. Guns weren't allowed in the fights.

Darkstrike unconsciously wondered if Soundwave would be watching.

She shook her helm. Of course he wouldn't. Why should it matter? Darkstrike apparently was hardly worth his time. His constant ignoring and silence only confirmed this.

It seemed that the high-ranking Gladiator had better things to do. They had only interacted one other time since her first cycle there.

She wasn't sure why she held such a curiosity for the mech when there were plenty more in the Pits.

Maybe it was the rumors.

From what she had heard, he was a Gladiator legend. This was no ordinary bot. He seemed to be thinner in comparison to the bulky bots, but he was equipped with a powerful frame and an intelligent mindset. Interaction with him was almost nonexistent.

Their second interaction had been an _interesting_ one.

The memory was still vivid in her processor.

Darkstrike had not wanted to deal with the dirty comments from RocketShield that cycle. So instead, she wandered down the corridors. They were surprisingly large. There were different halls, probably for different ranking mechs.

Not taking into considering the danger, Darkstrike continued on her path. She wasn't sure what halls she had entered, and instead let her instinct guide her. It wasn't "instinct"... but more of her spark.

Darkstrike ignored it until the tugging in her chassis had increased. The sharp pain was minor but unfamiliar. Seeking to get rid of it, she simply obeyed.

Darkstrike took turns, going left and right until she finally ended up in one of the cleanest corridors there. She stood there and her red optics marveled at it. There were fewer doors, most likely because not many mechs made it this far into the ranks.

Darkstrike could only dream of making it that far.

Rudely interrupting her thoughts was the sharp tug in her chest. It urged her to continue. She glared down at the tugging and deeply sighed. Darkstrike continued down the halls, her pedes producing soft thuds. Her curiosity and led her to one of the doors. It was a door that looked like any other, and she wondered why she chose to stop at that specific one.

Darkstrike stood in front of the door, staring intently. A few kliks went by.

Much to her horror, the door hissed open, revealing a tall mech. Her optics looked ahead onto an upper chassis considering she was probably shorter than him. Her optics looked at his long armored arms and hesitantly peered up to his faceplates.

Not to her surprise, she only saw a visor. Darkstrike had somehow already suspected this. Her optics widened and she took a step back.

"Soundwave..!" she gasped. The mech took a step forward, making Darkstrike back up into the wall. The door behind him hissed shut. His helm tilted in a questioning, yet threatening way.

"Corridors: Prohibited," he spoke. His voice sent her spark to a wild pulsing. She used her claws to cover it. Darkstrike did not miss the threatening edge his voice held. She gulped, realizing that this was probably the first time she had heard him speak.

He had a thick Kaonian accent, though his voice sounded different than anything she had ever heard.

"Apologies. I was lost," she lied. Usually, lying wasn't as difficult to her, but doing it in front of Soundwave seemed almost dangerous.

His optics weren't revealed but she could still feel his harsh stare. Darkstrike's attitude faltered and her optics drifted towards the floor when Soundwave's visor didn't leave her direction.

Suddenly, his long arm was slammed up against her. Darkstrike was pushed against the wall. A small growl left her mouth as she felt the familiar feeling of being restrained. Soundwave didn't miss it.

Darkstrike began struggling and only stopped when Soundwave's helm inched closer to hers. His sharp fingers pressed against her, threatening to puncture her protoform through her armor. If Darkstrike moved, his claw-like fingers were sure to cause damage. Darkstrike flinched back, pressing up against the wall further. She resisted the urge to shiver or shake in fear at their small proximity. Darkstrike stiffened in his grasp against the wall. She turned her helm to the side when his visor was only inches from her.

"Femme: Lying. Reason: Ignorant curiosity," Soundwave uttered in her audios. Before Darkstrike could fully process his captivating voice through her audios, Soundwave was already gone.

That had happened before she learned who he was in the Pits.

Since then, Darkstrike decided that it was good that Soundwave ignored her. It was what she had to do to survive.

Snapping her processor out of her thoughts, was an all-too-familiar beep. Darkstrike clenched her energon. Her battle was about to begin.

* * *

Darkstrike stood in the large arena surrounded by many, _many_ mechs and femmes.

They all shouted, encouraging the violence. A lot of them laughed and jumped in their seats, cheering for the energon that would surely stain the grounds. Darkstrike felt disgusted. They all looked at her, only wanting a source of entertainment. They would eventually toss her away like an empty energon cube once she wouldn't be able to provide entertainment or pleasure. They would all let her rust once she had fallen.

But Darkstrike would not fall.

Her competitor stood on the other side of the large arena. A speaker was in between them, announcing exciting things to the audience. The Cybertronians gulped down their high-grade energon, some letting the liquid spill down their mouths. Darkstrike grimaced.

Once the large crowd of Cybertronians was gathered, the speaker yelled out in the microphone.

 _"Femmes and mechs of Kaon! For the first time in our arena, we have a femme fighting! Now, this a fight we'll surely remember for a while,"_ the mech spoke. The crowd cheered louder. _"Now, it's time to see whether our femme will survive her first battle..."_

The crowd went wild. Mechs were out of their seats, calling at her, trying to get her attention. If Darkstrike thought she disliked the Gladiators' stares, she was sure that she hated being seen by the many Cybertronians before her.

 _"In this corner, we have last orn's newcomer, Plasmo!"_ the crowd cheered at the mech as he arrogantly threw his arms up, relishing in the cheers. _"And, as his femme competitor... we have Darkstrike!"_

She heard rogue calls and audacious complaints towards her. Darkstrike dead-panned and almost felt impelled to tune down her audios.

 _"Gladiators, get ready... and BEGIN!"_ The speaker was quick to get out of the way and travel towards the stands.

Darkstrike's attention was fully averted when she heard a fierce battle cry. The mech ran towards her, his upper body prepared to crash into her. Darkstrike saw that this mech was her height. Perhaps that could be helpful.

Instead of moving out of the way like she probably should have done, Darkstrike firmly planted her pedes on the ground, and she leaned forward. The mech came at her, his brute force slamming and impacting into her thinner armor.

Though it painfully hurt, Darkstrike was able to take the impact. She clenched her denta and grabbed the mechs larger arms. She used her force to throw him off her, but it only seemed to make him stumble back.

Quickly composing herself, Darkstrike ignored the tingling sensation in her claws. Clenching her servo in a fist, she ran and swung at the mech. The mech was also quick to compose himself, and he caught her arm with ease. Darkstrike swung her other fist at him, hitting him squarely in the faceplates. The mech stumbled back from the force, and Darkstrike took the chance to take her arm back.

Seeing that he was momentarily trying to fix himself. Darkstrike ran up to him, prepared to use a kick him down. She realized her mistake of hitting his most guarded area, as Plasmo grabbed her leg and swung her down. Darkstrike fell hard on the arena. She grunted at the pain sent up her back-struts.

Plasmo lifted her up by her arm and gave her an uppercut at her abdomen. Darkstrike was sent back by the impact. Energon rose up from her tanks as she landed on her back. She coughed up energon, but her slight distraction prevented her from seeing the mech launch at her and kick her back.

Darkstrike rolled many times. The force of it made her fuzzy, momentarily making her optic-sight appear blurry.

Plasmo came back and grabbed her neck, pulling her up in the process. Darkstrike struggled in his grasp. Again, she was in the position. The fragging mech was possibly even smaller than her, and he still had the nerve to grab her by the neck.

Darkstrike extended her leg and kicked his thigh. She was quick on her pedes when she was dropped on the ground, less-than-gracefully catching herself. Plasmo seemed to actually trip back from her kick. Darkstrike's optics widened. She wasn't aware how much force her kicks actually held, and she never thought to use them before.

She launched forward and struck at his exposed waist, making him fall back. Darkstrike was too slow to decide her next movement. Plasmo used his legs to trip her down. Darkstrike landed on the ground with a hard thud. She groaned. Plasmo kicked her once more. Energon leaked through her plating. He looked down at her, wiping the energon from his mouth plates.

"Stay down, femme," he uttered. The cheers around her became dull in her audios. The blurry images hardly reached her optics. Recharge seemed like a gift from Primus, at this point. Darkstrike weakly lifted her helm and saw many Cybertronians celebrating her pain.

Her arms wobbled at another attempt to stand.

 _No, it can't be..._ She had trained too hard for this day. Darkstrike had shed energon and had ached for cycles to prepare for this battle. The femme couldn't believe how futile it all had been.

She wasn't dead yet and she'd surely be the Pit's new whore.

She had run from her assassinators in order to live and prove her creators wrong. Darkstrike knew her life was worth something... but was this why she had tried hard to survive?

_Stand up._

Her optics snapped open.

_Stop being pathetic and stand._

Darkstrike couldn't recognize the commanding voice. It was a graceful sound moving throughout her processor.

She did as she was told. Her arms managed through the pain. Her optics darkened. Her inner systems seethed as her claws twitched.

 _High castes are only good for one thing._ The taunting came back to her, the humiliation filled her processor. Darkstrike had constantly been reminded of how worthless she was, but this was her moment to feel superior for once in her life. Her rage returned once more, fueling her actions.

She would survive.

The energon running through her pulsed harder, as well as her spark. She roared and jumped on her pedes. The mech seemed bewildered at her sudden appearance, only to realize too late as her pede slammed into his side.

Darkstrike's fist rose and immediately struck at his faceplates. Her other pede rose, and it easily impacted on his chassis. Her claws couldn't bear it anymore, and instinct overtook her. Darkstrike's claws were soon dug into his armor, puncturing through his protoform. A wild heat seemed to transfer from her frame attaching itself onto the mech.

Plasmo released a raw scream. He clenched his optics shut as he was suddenly brought down to his knees. The seething heat seemed to leave her systems completely as the mech before her shook. Darkstrike took her retreated her claws. Her vermillion optics widened in surprise. Plasmo fell on his front and landed on the ground with a loud thud.

Energon stained the ground.

Something inside of Darkstrike was severely frightened. She watched as the mech opened his optics to look at her. She looked down at the blue energon on her claws. The femme looked at him in disbelief. She had just done that.

_It had to be done._

Plasmo was only a competitor. He wasn't offline. This was what she had to do to _survive_ , and the sooner she realize that, the sooner she would be closer to victory.

_It had to be done._

There was no need for her to feel remorse for him. It was clear that he would feel none for her. No one ever seemed to feel penitence for her.

She should be frightened at this primitive side of her. It did scare her to an extent and the sensations of unadulterated rage and power were something she had never experienced. It was unnerving but not entirely unwelcome.

Darkstrike's optics dimmed to their previous red color. She flicked her claws and a splat of energon landed on the ground. She slowly walked over to him, noticing the arena going completely silent.

Shocked expressions overcame the audience as their optics watched the femme who had taken down the mech.

Darkstrike placed her pede on Plasmo's helm and she looked up at the audience.

The femme had never experienced the same exhilaration as when the audience chanted her name.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all so much! You all are a great group of people.
> 
> Reminder: I won't be referencing to Orion and Megatronus' events too much considering this is more of a Soundwave-centric story.

**Condescending- _possessing an attitude of superiority, patronizing_**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Darkstrike basked in the Cybertronian's loud cheering. She looked up at them and felt her spark beat faster. For once she was being acknowledged. It had been a while since someone had praised her for her accomplishments, and it took her defeating a mech to earn others' approval. Darkstrike didn't like the fact, but she refused to let anybody take the moment away from her.

The speaker was quick to go by her side. He grabbed her arm and raised it in the air.

 _"Our champion today is Darkstrike!"_ the speaker yelled. Darkstrike took her arm back and winced at the dents. She held her side and watched as two mechs retrieved Plasmo from the ground. Darkstrike looked down at him before turning her helm away.

There was no need for her presence any longer. She was done entertaining them for the cycle; there was no use for Darkstrike to stay.

She turned her back on the people. Darkstrike walked towards the door, trying not to limp in front of the audience. It was already understood that weakness was not permitted in the Gladiatorial Pits. The femme remained unfazed and only uttered a few winces as she reached the door.

When her eyes looked through the exit, volts of sudden pain shot through her. Her joints stiffened, and she froze in her place. Darkstrike's optics widened in fear.

Soundwave stood there.

* * *

As unpredictable Darkstrike's fight was, Soundwave learned to expect multiple outcomes.

He taught himself to expect everything despite the situation. The femme was no exception. Soundwave watched the fight, as did many other Gladiators. Before the fight had begun, many of the mechs had been arguing on who would get to keep the femme.

RocketShield had been particularly obnoxious about what he would do once the femme was his. The other middle-ranking mechs objected that the femme would be theirs, contrary to what RocketShield said. Though, this certainly didn't stop RocketShield's arrogance.

Nonetheless, this only went noticed by him. All of the four owners stood present in the fight and seemed more than satisfied with their immense profit for the fight. They didn't pay much attention to the mechs, rather more in their currency.

Soundwave knew that he should have left rather than waste his time watching the battle he expected would have a predictable ending. But, like the other mechs, he had paid to see the fight. The owners made no exceptions. If the Gladiators were interested in watching the current battle, they would have to pay too. Luckily, he didn't have to sit next to the other "higher class" Cybertronians.

Soundwave sat in the same section the other Gladiators were in. He kept his optics focused on the femme. She gazed across the crowd of Cybertronians. He saw the femme visibly grimace at all of them. It was ironic coming from the former high-caste femme.

His thoughts were interrupted as he sensed a new presence beside him. Soundwave turned his helm and saw the mighty Megatronus bending down to sit next to him. Soundwave's stare lingered a bit longer before it was directed towards the femme again. He didn't object or move away from Megatronus.

It was true; the silver mech was allowed to sit where ever he would like, though Soundwave made sure to keep his guard up.

"Interesting fight, wouldn't you say?" Megatronus asked. Soundwave didn't reply, but only nodded once. Megatronus seemed to understand his silence and didn't seem to question it.

"Who are you betting on?" Megatronus asked. Soundwave took a long gaze at Darkstrike and Plasmo. The fight would surely begin in a few kliks and the femme had yet to win or lose her first battle. Megatronus seemed to follow his gaze and stood quiet long enough for the mech to respond. The second highest-ranking mech stood silent for a few moments.

Nothing surprised Soundwave. His inferences never led him wrong, and he was sure they never would. To predict the outcome of the battle wouldn't be as simple. Soundwave had observed the femme's training, and he easily discovered her weaknesses and strategies. The femme could easily lose and the chances of her winning seemed slim.

Soundwave raised his long arm and pointed his sharp finger at Darkstrike. Megatronus looked taken aback as he immediately turned to Soundwave in a questioning manner.

" _The femme_?" Megatronus asked loudly. Soundwave didn't hesitate when he nodded. He knew very well that his choice was very controversial, as well as foolish. But, he didn't speak up to change his decision.

Megatronus' loud voice seemed to have captured the attention of the medium-ranking mechs. They all turned their helms in their direction. RocketShield, in particular, stared at them.

The mech carefully traveled closer to them, almost as if he were attempting to be stealthy. Soundwave wasn't ignorant; he was completely aware of the mech.

"You are betting on the femme?" Megatronus asked in a surprised manner. Soundwave nodded again. RocketShield made his way closer.

"What is it I hear? Soundwave is betting?" RocketShield asked, a surprised smirk rising on his features. Soundwave didn't immediately respond, much to the other mech's annoyance. It wasn't until the nosey owners started staring that Soundwave took responded.

The silent mech slowly stood up. He refused to be looked down at, especially by that mech in particular. RocketShield's optics widened slightly and he warily took a step back.

Soundwave nodded in response. This was enough warning to make the other mech keep his distance.

"How about a fair wager? Between all of us Gladiators?" RocketShield asked, regaining confidence. Megatronus seemed to perk up. Soundwave didn't respond, but neither did he back away. RocketShield took that as a sign to continue.

"Alright then. 50 credits to whoever's Cybertronian wins," he began, "We bet that Plasmo will win, right mechs?" the mechs behind RocketShield chuckled and murmured loudly in agreement.

"And you bet that the femme will win?" the smaller mech asked coyly. Soundwave stood still. He usually didn't bet, especially not with the arrogant slagger in his presence, but if he backed off now, he would be seen as a coward. The least Soundwave wanted to do was give the impression that he was becoming weak.

Those mechs best learn or else he would gladly demonstrate. The ignorant mechs already feared him and Soundwave preferred to keep it that way.

Soundwave could have scoffed; the whole debacle was a waste of time.

He nodded in response to the other mech's wager.

"So, it's only you betting on the femme?" RocketShield asked.

"No. I bet for the femme, as well," a voice said. Soundwave turned his helm in the direction of the voice. Both high-ranking Gladiators seemed to easily loom threateningly over the middle-ranking mech. RocketShield's optics widened, and he turned to the mechs behind him. They all seemed to exchange silent glances.

RocketShield hesitantly turned back to them.

"So, it's a deal then. 50 credits from each mech," he said. He extended his servo out and Soundwave looked down at it. They shook on it. Immediately, Soundwave let go in disgust.

Soundwave didn't stay any longer, and he turned around to take his seat again. Megatronus followed him back, wordlessly. Both mechs sat beside each other.

"Bet: Unnecessary," Soundwave spoke. His words made Megatronus fully regard him with wide blue optics. They quickly returned to their normal size once he processed the statement. Megatronus shrugged.

"I do not doubt your decision." Megatronus said, "Let us hope that the femme does succeed."

Soundwave didn't say anything more, though he suspected that Megatronus had only wagered with him to gain his favor. The silver mech wanted his trust; however, Soundwave was not easily lured into a sense of security. The other Gladiator's intentions weren't honest as he claimed them to be. Soundwave would remain attentive.

Once the speaker had finished his announcing, the battle had begun.

Soundwave had not taken his optics away from the fight for a klik.

His optics took in every movement, every drop of energon spilled, every kick, every punch. Soundwave was satisfied with the entertainment of the fight. Darkstrike seemed to be making actual attempts, though he was disappointed when the femme had been easily brought down to the ground, then carelessly kicked.

The femme lacked the experience.

She had been battered and energon leaked through her armor. Soundwave didn't feel pity. He only watched the feeble femme as she struggled to stand. His optics intently stared at her from behind his visor.

Plasmo raised his arms up, claiming victory. RocketShield looked at Soundwave, but Soundwave refused to do the same.

Plasmo looked down at Darkstrike and seemed to utter a few words.

The femme attempted to stand. Her arms wobbled and she fell to the ground once more. She glared at Plasmo. Darkstrike heavily vented and stayed on the ground. Her optics closed. She seemed to be in deep thought.

She wasn't far from him. He dared to break the rules and intervene. Soundwave reached his mind out to her. Invisible tendrils attached themselves to the intangible depths of her mind. He invaded her with ease; all her barriers seemed to be down.

Soundwave silently commanded the femme to stand up and fight for herself.

_Stand up._

_Stop being pathetic and stand._

This seemed to invoke a reaction from her.

He uttered one more taunt.

That was when Soundwave saw it for the second time. He saw the rage in the femme's optics. Even from the distance, his optics were clearly able to sense it. He saw the red in her optics enhance to a vivid crimson. The red orbs narrowed in a fierce glare.

Darkstrike shakily stood up. She bared her denta and launched at him. Plasmo didn't seem to see it coming. Her fierce battle cry wasn't enough to warn him as Darkstrike's pede slammed into his frame.

Metal slammed on metal once she struck at his faceplates. No doubt that there would be dents. The painful sound echoed throughout the arena, causing the cheering to die down. Many optics watched attentively.

There was the last sound of snapping metal from the mech's chassis. Before Plamso could fall to the ground, Darkstrike grabbed on to him. Soundwave had to lean forward to see clearer. The femme's claws dug deep through the mech's armor. Darkstrike looked straight at the other mech as he let out a resonant scream, making most mechs flinch.

Darkstrike was looking at fear straight in the optics. Her first taste of victory would be a bitter one on her glossa.

Soundwave remained unfazed, watching carefully. The mech soon fell down, faceplates to the ground. Small sparks of electricity seemed to emit from the revealed sides of Plasmo's protoform. The femme had done much more than just pierced her claws into him. She had done something, but Soundwave couldn't be sure of what. He knew he had seen something similar to this.

Soundwave inspected her energon-stained claws. He noticed the sharp glow it held, and he suddenly remembered what the ability was.

His thoughts were caught off as he heard the femme approach the fallen mech. The femme placed her pede over the mech's helm. This was a demonstration of dominance. He leaned back and watched with mild amusement. Soundwave watched wryly as all of the mechs and femmes stared with surprised expressions. He turned his helm to look at RocketShield. Soundwave saw that him and the other Gladiators were absolutely stunned.

Soundwave watched them with contempt. He felt pleased with how foolish they must have felt at this point. His helm turned back to the femme. She looked up at the crowd and smirked. The bots bombarded his audios with their deafening roars.

Plasmo hardly moved, which meant that he was unable to fight.

Darkstrike had won.

Somehow, Soundwave knew that he had not underestimated the femme. Tactically, he had expected every outcome, including this.

The femme had managed to exceed the very low expectations he had for her. This was good. Darkstrike had proved herself worthy of being able to defend her insignificant life. She didn't offline. The foolish femme had _barely_ made it, but she held potential. So long as she knew how to harness and use such potential, Darkstrike had a possibility to survive there. Not that Soundwave expected any more success from her. She was still a newcomer, and they didn't last long.

"Soundwave!" it was the voice of one of the owners. He stood up and turned his helm towards him. "It seems that the femme did serve to be useful. Ensure that today's victor receives an upgrade,"

Soundwave nodded at the owner's order. He walked towards the door, not before passing the other Gladiators. Soundwave stopped in front of RocketShield. The mech obviously was in disbelief at the events. He had thought that he would get to take the femme. It was pathetic enough to be considered comical. The other mech seemed to stiffen.

"What?" RocketShield blurted, attempting to appear unafraid.

"Payment is expected today," Soundwave ordered. His helm turned in the other high-ranking Gladiator's direction. Megatronus gave him a nod, and Soundwave idly returned it. Before he left, he looked back to see RocketShield's faceplates. Soundwave fought to keep his face emotionless and devoid of a smirk.

* * *

Darkstrike turned her helm, her optics scanning for any other possible passageways other than the one in front of her. Much to her dismay, there weren't.

She continued to slowly approach the door. Even in her fatigue, Darkstrike was wary of the tall mech. She stepped closer, but Soundwave didn't seem to budge. He stood as still as a statue. The femme would have mistaken him for one if he hadn't have had such a threatening presence.

She looked directly at his visor before averting her optics downward. When Darkstrike had reached him, she noticed that he was blocking the door. She clutched her side tighter. Soundwave's helm tilted directly at her small movement. Darkstrike's optics widened.

She straightened herself out, and her posture was fixed so she appeared to be taller. Her faceplates shifted so it looked like she was unaffected by the pain. Soundwave's arm shot out too quick for Darkstrike to react.

His fingers wrapped around her arm, tightening when she tried to pull away. Darkstrike's helm snapped up at him in questioning bewilderment. Soundwave didn't say anything and began to pull her.

"W-what are you doing?" the flier asked frantically. Soundwave didn't respond. He continued to walk forward while dragging the femme behind him. Darkstrike stumbled before realizing that most of her weight was taken off as Soundwave held her arm. She wasn't sure if he was doing it intentionally, but she was grateful.

Her spark beat increased unintentionally as the femme began to fully feel Soundwave's sharp fingers wrapped around her arm. Soundwave turned his helm to look at her, and Darkstrike turned away so she wouldn't meet his gaze. He pulled her harder until she was right next to him. Her widened optics landed directly on his armored frame. She looked away with humiliation as her spark seemed to not mind their close proximity.

She didn't say a thing and she hoped that Soundwave wouldn't be able to notice.

"Where are we going?" Darkstrike tentatively asked. She was careful speaking. It wasn't every cycle that some mech pulled her fresh out of a match. The taller mech regarded her with a side glance but didn't speak further.

She wondered if all novice Gladiators received this type of treatment. The femme sighed in defeat. She was simply too tired to continue struggling. It didn't matter if he was bringing her to the medic's quarters to be permanently offlined; at this point, Darkstrike didn't care.

Okay... maybe she did care a little.

Soundwave seemed to lead her past all of the corridors and to a new door. He typed in a code, causing it to open. He motioned for her to enter.

"Oil bath. One breem," Soundwave said. To Darkstrike, it sounded like an order. She slowly entered, glancing at Soundwave. He didn't say more. As the flier entered, the door behind her hissed shut.

After a klik of standing there in silence, she realized what he meant: Darkstrike only had a breem to rid herself of the filth before Soundwave would open the door. She didn't hesitate to turn the device on.

The liquid ran down her frame, soothing her stiff posture. She melted into the bath. The energon and filth washed down to the floors. The dents didn't fade away, but at least Darkstrike didn't have any energon residue. Though, it would probably be more efficient if she had taken her armor off.

That was not happening. In the short amount of time she had, Darkstrike would most likely get caught in her bare proto-form. That was something she did not want. Best that she enjoyed any short luxury she would receive. The light sound of the pattering liquid running down her frame echoed throughout the silent room. Just as Darkstrike began humming and enjoying the sudden warmth, the liquid stopped running. Her optics opened.

She reached up towards where the tube was. Her optics narrowed. Darkstrike was certainly in no mood for her bath to be cut off. Her claws gripped it. She shook it multiple times, but much to her anger, nothing came out. She growled in anger. Darkstrike had just finished a fight with Plasmo, and she was fragging tired and wounded. Either she made the pipe continue to work, or she was fragged.

Grinding her denta together, her fist slammed into the tube. To her surprise... it broke in half. Darkstrike deadpanned. She glared at the piece in her servos. She viciously swiped her claws at the rest of the tube, successfully breaking it off completely. Darkstrike stomped on the remaining pieces and kicked them away. And in the end... no more liquid came out.

The door suddenly opened.

Darkstrike's optics widened, and her anger soon died down once she realized that Soundwave was staring at her. She realized her current predicament.

The femme looked down at the broken pieces and the floor and at her claws. Soundwave's helm snapped at similar places. He pointed at the broken pieces on the floor. She flinched back and sighed in frustration. The femme picked up the pieces and threw them aside, making it less noticeable.

Soundwave's visor was turned to her direction, and it stood there for a few kliks. Darkstrike shuffled and clenched her claws nervously. It was frightening how his gaze managed to pierce her more than if his visor was off.

He began to turn away and walk. Darkstrike took this as a sign to follow. She stumbled and limped behind Soundwave. The taller mech didn't even turn around to check if she was following.

Darkstrike sighed again. She was beginning to like his grip on her arm better.

Immediately after she thought this, Soundwave's servo flew towards her arm. He pulled her forward. Darkstrike threw him a bewildered expression. The mech disregarded her completely. Her optics were still wide and she could help but feel strange.

Darkstrike shook her helm. It was purely coincidental, after all, she wasn't that hard to read.

Again, Darkstrike let all of her weight fall on Soundwave's hold. He didn't seem to mind or even notice for that matter. She continued to limp and look away. Darkstrike gave another weary sigh. She really needed recharge, but for some reason, she didn't want Soundwave to discover the fact.

The femme already knew that any weakness shown to the mechs was a huge vulnerability, especially in front of Soundwave. She looked down at his fingers that gripped her arm. The long digits were able to encircle her forearm armor completely. Darkstrike snapped out of her thoughts.

She looked up and realized that they were in another room. It was large and bright. It was basically empty, with a few restraints in the corner. Soundwave pointed at the metal berth. Darkstrike looked at it and frantically turned back to him. Her optics widened and she began venting deeply. She backed up and stood in a defensive position.

He wanted her on the metal berth and that was something that unnerved her.

Her claws clenched and she looked at Soundwave with a determined expression. Darkstrike knew she would lose in a fight with Soundwave. She knew he was a high ranking mech and he could easily terminate her but she'd fight with any strength she had left, which was little to none.

Soundwave seemed to stare at her blankly. He didn't seem at all alarmed at her sudden posture and it was starting to frighten Darkstrike. He seemed a bit too calm.

He approached her slowly, menacingly. His size seemed to grow with every step he took. Darkstrike lost her confidence and flinched back into the wall.

She was soon corned onto to while Soundwave was only a small distance in front of her. The Gladiator shot out his servo and pressed it on her chassis, pushing her further into the wall. Darkstrike struggled but froze back when Soundwave's helm neared her. Darkstrike was automatically reminded of the previous cycle when he had done the same thing.

Although, it didn't scare her any less. What was worse, was that her spark seemed to pound in delight at Soundwave, while her common sense was completely terrified.

Soundwave poked her abdomen. It could have easily punctured her, but it didn't.

Instead, his sharp finger remained on her frame and slowly trailed up. The sharp finger running up her caused a shiver down Darkstrike's backstruts. It slowly scraped up her torso, chassis, and then to her neck. Darkstrike bit her glossa at the strange but pleasant sensation. Only one other mech had made her feel like this, but the wrecker was long gone at this point.

Currently, it was Soundwave's actions electing certain responses. The femme was too frightened to object to anything.

His claw-like finger didn't leave her neck cables. Darkstrike's helm arched up, her optics widening in fear.

* * *

Soundwave watched the terrified femme in front of him. Something about the position gave him a greater sense of superiority. His optics ran through her frame, this time looking at it at a much more different perspective.

Seeing her aggression during her fight had ignited an interest in him. She was a curious thing and Soundwave was keen on pushing her limits in her most defenseless state.

He wasn't one to indulge in femmes often, but he did find it mildly amusing to see Darkstrike's panic. She was the Pit's first femme and he wanted to experiment in such a specimen before anyone else could get the chance.

The femme could threaten him with the owners but he had a feeling she wouldn't be doing that. The fear reflected in her optics was enough to make him realize that.

If that didn't give it away, her thoughts certainly did. Soundwave was especially able to hear her thoughts when they were as loud as hers. Her mind was so open, much more than anyone he had ever met. If he truly wanted to, his own mind could silently creep into hers and invade any place she thought was private.

He looked down at her and removed his sharp finger from her neck.

Soundwave was most likely not done with her. He decided that he would continue to play around with the femme. She was a peculiar thing, bold enough protect her own spark from becoming extinguished but pitiful enough to cower beneath him.

She was weak, soft, and unhardened. Darkstrike was unaccustomed to the unadulterated fury, and in her case, it seemed the only thing she had that had prevented her demise. That was what the Gladiatorial Pits were about: to fight and keep whatever of a pathetic life you had.

"Upgrade," Soundwave blurted out. Darkstrike immediately snapped out of her slight trans. Her optics cleared. She blinked in confusion, her fear slowly dissipating.

"What..?" she blurted. He backed up from her frame, and Soundwave immediately heard her small thoughts of protest.

The femme was infatuated with him.

Soundwave had a leash on his arrogance and stoic emotions; he felt nothing at the fact. He almost never interacted with her, yet his curt actions had a great affect on her. He viewed this as more of an advantage.

"Upgrade," Soundwave repeated. His finger pointed at the metal berth. He saw the bright blue energon rise to her faceplates.

"B-but-! Y-you-! I..." Darkstrike was clearly baffled at his actions. Soundwave didn't reply. He traveled away from her, into the smaller room next door. The owners had given him an order after all.

The closet next door contained many items and many pieces of armor. He knew that some were probably from desist mechs, but at the very least, they were cleaned. He collected them from the ground, grabbing the most important parts that connected to the frame.

Before Soundwave left, he turned his helm towards an old datapad. One he had stored long ago. The worn out pad seemed almost invisible to the naked optic, but he had remembered why he had stored the thing. He no longer required the knowledge because he had learned everything he had needed to.

Extending his long arm, he snatched the datapad. He carried the armor and the pad back to the angry femme.

He turned around to collect the rest of the parts. Just before he left, he turned his helm in her direction.

"Begin placing onto protoform, or Soundwave will do it," he stated. The femme gave a startled reaction and a bright blue blush. Her red optics widened largely, and he could easily see the bewilderment behind them. Darkstrike merely nodded before hurriedly rushing to place the parts on her frame.

He entered the smaller room next door to grab the remaining pieces of the standard Gladiator armor; the were the leg pieces that attached to her knee and down. Soundwave froze when he heard Darkstrike pause. There was a faint sound of metal scraping, followed by more silence. He took this as his cue. Soundwave turned his helm towards the door and was quick to walk into the previous room.

The femme stumbled and loudly shuffled before turning her attention towards him. Soundwave didn't reply, but he had his suspicions. He placed the rest of the pieces onto the hard berth.

Darkstrike grabbed the pieces and looked at her frame to figure out where they belonged. Just as she was about to remove them, she turned towards Soundwave. She seemed uncomfortable with his presence. She noticed that he didn't seem budging.

Darkstrike sighed.

She didn't seem to care about his audience as she removed the pieces from her legs, exposing the proto-form to him. Her long sleek legs immediately caught his attention. Soundwave didn't hide his staring as he revised them, up and down. Having a clearer view, it was apparent that they _did_ have a lot of force to them.

Darkstrike blushed a light blue, before hastily placing on the armor. When she was finished with the process, she looked down at herself. The armor fit the femme loosely. It gave her a bulky appearance, hiding her natural curves. The armor was from a mech, hence why it didn't fit the slimmer femme. Darkstrike seemed visibly displeased with this.

Soundwave neared her and silently extended a tendril from his frame. The long tendril slithered her way, making itself unnoticed. Then, Soundwave plunged it and roughly connected it to the femme's back. Immediately, the tendril began glowing, transferring onto the femme.

Darkstrike gave out a scream filled with utter pain, one that would probably make lesser mechs flinch back. Soundwave remained unfazed, as always. Even as Darkstrike fell to her knees, he didn't utter a word. He wanted to see how much more she could take, for how long would she be able to sustain her life. When would she drop to imminent defeat?

The tendril clutched to her back a bit longer, as the process continued for a few more kliks. He knew it was painful for the femme, but taking her by surprise seemed easier than restraining her.

Soundwave detached the long tendril from her. Darkstrike had her helm lowered, and her audible venting suggested that she was still recuperating.

The armor that was previously attached to her, had morphed and attached itself tighter onto her frame. It was an easy process that Soundwave didn't use for just any upgrade. But, if the femme were to advance in the Pits, she might as well have had susceptible armor for it.

She stood up, helm still lowered. That was when she noticed the change.

Darkstrike looked down at her frame. The dull blue armor now accented her slim figure. Darkstrike lifted up her arm to test it out. She looked at the sharp armor that adorned her forearms. The femme would easily be able to dig it into anyone else's armor, along with the sharp pads on her shoulders. Soundwave was quick to notice that her upper thighs and waist were the only vulnerability, along with her wings.

Darkstrike's large surprised red optics averted towards Soundwave. They quickly reverted back to their normal size as she composed herself. Much to her surprise, he was quick to return her gaze.

Soundwave and she stared at each other for a few kliks. Thick tension filled the room. Narrowed red optics refused to leave his visor. Soundwave didn't like this. He gave her a few kliks to back down.

But, Darkstrike didn't. His posture was lifted in a threatening manner. Darkstrike looked defiantly up at him. He interpreted it as a challenge. Silent defiance was one that he would not tolerate.

Soundwave traveled her way, making his steps louder. Darkstrike recoiled but didn't seem to avert her curious gaze.

Once Soundwave was only half a step away from her, his sharp fingers grabbed her chin and yanked it so she looked directly up at him.

Darkstrike's optics widened.

"Do not stare unless you are prepared for a challenge," Soundwave uttered. He felt the shiver pass through her. He tightened his hold, scratching underneath her chin.

"Leave," he commanded. With quick skittish movements, Darkstrike left the room. She squirmed and struggled with the different armor she now had on. His optics trailed after her figure as she left the room. Soundwave turned his helm at the berth where her discarded armor lied.

Just as he expected, the datapad was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave's personality was not easy to write.
> 
> Megatronus made an appearance too! I'm not going to get into the full relationship of him and Soundwave, but I will give slight intel for future references.
> 
> Also, I am a believer on Primus bringing together two Cybertronians to become destined Bond-mates incase you all were wondering what was going on with her spark.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've edited all previous chapters and I highly suggest reading them considering they're no longer atrocious. I'll have to be posting daily if I want to catch up where I am on my FF account... heh.

**Provocative-** **_tending to provoke a response, e.g., anger or disagreement_**

**Brightplate- _a general mildly offensive term for a Towerling or upper-caste mechanism, or aimed at transformers who at least appear to be of upper class - too polished, too clean, not enough armor, etc._ -Canon Transformers term**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Darkstrike sat on her rusty berth, analyzing the data pad in her servos. The poor lighting shone onto her new armor. Her red optics narrowed as she easily decoded the encryption to reach the information. Her claws diligently typed on the datapad until a bright blue message popped up on the screen. Darkstrike skimmed over the first page until she realized what it was.

She went to the next page and then to the next. All of the pages were battle moves, slick battle strategies specifically.She almost dropped the datapad in shock. Darkstrike was quick to catch it half way before it hit the floor. The femme's optics widened as she set it down on the berth. She could hardly remember that datapad being on the berth from the other room when she and Soundwave had arrived.

She almost dropped the datapad in shock. Darkstrike was quick to catch it half way before it hit the floor. The femme's optics widened as she set it down on the berth. She could hardly remember that datapad being on the berth from the other room when she and Soundwave had arrived.

Then again, Soundwave had distracted her.

It was almost as if Soundwave had left it for her.

Highly unlikely.

That didn't stop her imagination from igniting. He could have left it.

Did he? Why would the terrifying mech leave her such a device? There was no purpose to it. Soundwave didn't like her, she knew that much. It didn't seem logical that he would take the time to give her this.

His behavior was becoming very unclear for her. Would he act cold and ignore her or would he grab her like he did? Not that she wanted either...

Darkstrike already felt mortified at her reactions from having mere contact with Soundwave. The feel of his servos was enough to send shivers tingle up her back-struts. His intimidating aura chilled her to the core. His touch absolutely frightened her but it was an _invigorating_ risk that Darkstrike had never experienced. Not even when she was courting with a wrecker in her past caste.

Darkstrike wanted more. Though, she knew that her contact with Soundwave was asking for a miracle. Darkstike didn't know whether she liked the fact or not.

She had been so blunt with her reactions; she wouldn't be surprised if Soundwave knew that she...— She _what?_ How _did_ she feel about Soundwave?

_Well he scares the life out of me, that's for sure._

Darkstrike was old enough to know how these things worked. There was no denying how pleasing his physical appearance was. She was simply... _drawn_ to him... so to speak. It was physical attraction. Perhaps she was just being shallow because he was a high-ranking Gladiator. Maybe she liked the attention. It was obvious he didn't give his time to just anybody.

If anyone heard her, they would probably scoff, including herself. Based on the way she cowered from him, it didn't seem like she was all that drawn.

She looked down at the datapad again. Perhaps her processor needed to be distracted.

She began to revise and study the first page. There were moves she'd never heard of or seen, but then again, her previous caste wasn't known for fighting. The moves on the datapad were complex, and needed excellent precision. She however, had a lot of time to learn. Darkstrike would hone her skills. It would be a matter of how much effort she put.

Gently setting it down, Darkstrike began to strip herself of the armor. There were fresh wounds on her protoform. It was nothing that couldn't be healed. She'd pay a visit to the medic tomorrow. That was, if she received enough recharge to recuperate enough.

She laid down on the berth, rubbing the sore protoform and scratches. Her optics slowly began to close. Her arms sprawled out on her berth. The weariness was enough to remind her of the battle she recently participated in.

It was odd how she was able to survive without regret. It was odd how easily she had been able to sacrifice another to save her spark. It was odd how she didn't mind the applause.

Survival was selfish, she knew that much.

Though, did that make her selfish as well?

Her optics closed and recharge overcame her before she could dwell on the question.

* * *

Red optics flickered open. Darkstrike looked at the ceiling above her. She frantically gathered herself, ignoring the slight aches of pain that emitted from her wounds. Most of the throbbing had stopped and the large cuts had stopped bleeding. It was probably still wise to see the medic.

She stood up on her pedes, her optics searching the room she was in. Darkstrike was relieved when she saw that she was in her room.

The femme sighed deeply and frowned. She looked down at her scattered armor and began to sluggishly attach it back onto herself. As Darkstrike finished, she extended her limbs to examine herself. The armor felt thicker and a bit heavier. Other than that, she had to give Soundwave credit. He did well in adjusting her armor... in a painful sort of way.

Darkstrike thumped her helm with her servo. She needed to stop thinking about that accursed mech! He seem to make it very clear that he could end her life easily. Darkstrike didn't doubt it, he was the second-ranking mech in the whole Pit! That meant Soundwave was the _second_ best mech there! There were so many mechs in the Pits and he was second best. It should frighten her _why_ Soundwave had made contact with her in the first place!

She was ranking near the bottom, having the least chance of enduring the Gladiatorial conditions. Soundwave should have just seen her as a nuisance. _M_ _aybe he did._

Perhaps he was trying to intimidate her.

_Well, it's working._

That was likely why he provoked such reactions from her. She might have been an ordinary femme, but she was an ordinary femme among Gladiators and that made a significant difference.

Soundwave never tried anything with her, though, and most of the time he ignored her.

So, maybe she was an ordinary femme, but Soundwave was no ordinary mech. He likely had a lot of femmes knock on his door. Maybe, she wasn't as significant to him as she thought.

The less personally affiliated she was to him, the better.

Though, why did he give her the datapad? Did he mean to give it to her? Her processor scoffed. _Don't feel special. You're not that important,_ it told her. It was probably coincidental, or worse, she had stolen it from him.

Darkstrike grunted in annoyance at catching herself thinking about him.

She walked over to the door, her legs almost dragging. She didn't want to leave the safety of her room, but she was malnourished. The energon in her systems was much below half. Her systems would fail before the cycle would be over.

Unlocking her door, the flier walked out. She followed the corridors, and soon enough the thunderous roars of the mechs reached her audios.

She entered and as the door swished open, it revealed all the mechs swinging their firsts in the air happily. Darkstrike kept her gaze towards the ground as she walked down the tables. Her recent upgrade seemed to unintentionally get their attention. This unwanted attention was beginning to make Darkstrike contemplate whether it was a positive thing she received an upgrade.

Whistles and roguish calls reached her audios. She gave a deep intake. Just when she had thought that they would stop calling out to her. It seemed to be inevitable.

"Ahh, look at that! I guess it's official. Our femme here's a Gladiator."

This earned various chuckles.

"I don't know... I kinda liked her other armor. It was easier to see what she hid beneath it."

There was more sly laughter. Darkstrike fought back a blush. One of these cycles, she'd show them she had snarky comments of her own. Perhaps she'd even punch them. It would give her such pleasure to hear the crisp metal echo across the room, the sound of a mouthplate and an enlarged ego shattering the air. The audience watching would make it all the more sweeter.

"Not that this isn't a good view, hmm."

Darkstrike couldn't wait until she received her sword.

She reached the counter. The familiar red mech stood there revising his data pad. His bored expression seemed permanent until his optics flickered ever-so-slightly in her direction. A smirk crawled onto his faceplates.

"How can I assist you, dear?" he asked chuckling. This didn't amuse Darkstrike at all.

"Energon," she deadpanned. He sniggered at her lack of enthusiasm. He filled up her energon a little more than usual, she noticed.

"A gift for you, darling," he whispered. Darkstrike raised her optic-ridge warily as she grabbed the cube. She swished it in her servo and gave the mech a bewildered expression.

He chuckled went back to reading his datapad.

As Darkstrike made her way through the tables, she noticed a lot of mechs clearing space and patting the seat next to them for her to sit. She grimaced and walked over to the familiar wall.

Ignoring the holes that the mechs bore into her with their gazes, Darkstrike flopped down on the floor. The femme winced, realizing that she hadn't completely healed. She sipped her energon cube and kept her optics fixated on it.

She refused to give any of the mechs the pleasure of her embarrassment.

The familiar thought of Soundwave crept up into her processor again. Was he also watching? That was enough encouragement for her to take the risk and find out. Slowly, she lifted her helm and quickly glanced at the crowd of mechs. Her optics flickered at all of them until she found a specific one.

She saw him.

_Him._

_Soundwave._

He seemed to be taking his energon cube with him. Darkstrike found herself wondering if he would take off his visor to consume it. Her predictions seemed to be incorrect as he subspaced the cube.

Suddenly blocking her view was the recognizable armor of white and red. Her optics drifted up to see RocketShield smirking. She automatically looked away and averted all of her attention onto her energon cube. She drank more of it.

The mech above her didn't seem to like to be ignored, for he kicked her side. Darkstrike stumbled to her side with an 'oof.' She glared up at the mech above her but bit her glossa, in fear of the consequence that came with her words.

She gulped down a good portion of her energon before discarded it on the floor. She'd drink the rest when they'd leave. Too scared and annoyed to look up, Darkstrike kept her helm lowered.

"Get up," he stated. She ignored him.

"I said _get up,_ " he snapped. She glared at the ground knowing that looking up at him would only make her ire rise. He wasn't bad to look at, but his personality sure made her despise him.

"Femme, are your audio-receptors malfunctioning?" RocketShield asked. No words were uttered from her vocals. Darkstrike had a feeling that RocketShield wouldn't be satisfied with this type of response either. There was no way she could win or remove herself from this situation without receiving some sort of pain or humiliation.

Her thoughts were confirmed as she received another rough kick to the side.

"Look at me, _Brightplate_." Her optics suddenly snapped up at him.

She froze.

Darkstrike looked up at him for a few nano-kliks. She kept silent. It was then that Darkstrike slowly stood up while narrowing her optics up at him. She bit her glossa once more to prevent her extent knowledge of Cybertronian curses from filling RocketShield's audios.

"What do you want?" she snapped. She clenched her servos tightly into fists. Her denta gritted together. RocketShield smirked again, his smug look gracing his features. It seemed that things were in his favor again. It also seemed that the mechs behind him were encouraged by their leader's positive attitude change.

"Oh, feisty are we?" he asked giving her sharp shoulder armor a flick.

Darkstrike was not amused.

"Maybe that'll be _our_ little nickname, _Brightplate,_ " RocketShield mocked. He was getting bolder. He used his finger to roughly tap on her shoulder making Darkstrike stumble back. "And look at that! The name fits with your new shiny armor! Whata coincidence, wouldn't yah say..." RocketShield leaned in closer to her. " _Brightplate._ " he finished, the mechs behind him also laughing. His scarlet optics burned into her.

Darkstrike fumed and leaned forward, a sign that she was challenging him. Getting close to someone meant that you were threatening them, going against them.

Soundwave warned her not to made such challenges.

She couldn't help it, though. If there was something she hated more, it was nicknames. After one was previously given to her, she knew that one was enough. After all, the only nickname she had received was ruined by the mech that had given it to her.

She could withstand being called, femme, or even any other lame insult others came up with, but a Brightplate... _Brightplate_ was something Darkstrike was no longer apart of. She thought they were over the fact that she wasn't from Kaon. It wasn't a nickname she wanted to share with anyone, much less with a mech called _RocketShield._

"Why don't I give you a nickname?" she asked, thinking of a few that would certainly fit him, "Or perhaps your own designation is enough insult."

The look on RocketShield's faceplates was beginning to make her regret her words. The look on his faceplates made the mechs behind him cease laughter.

"Can't take a joke, RocketShield?" she spat narrowing her optics. The look of indignation was certainly much better than the look he usually wore.

Unfortunately, she only got to see it for a few kliks before a fist swung her way. Before she could process anything, Darkstrike was flung back by the impact on her shoulder. She collided into the wall behind her. There was a mild pain on her shoulder. Luckily, he avoided hitting her facepates... what a gentlemech.

"What's the matter, can't take a punch?"

"Tough crowd," the flier murmured.

She grunted and closed her optics as she flinched back at his approaching faceplates. RocketShield had lowered his faceplates down to hers, only inches apart. He smirked and reached out for her energon cube. He swished the blue liquid making Darkstrike's optics open suddenly. She looked at it and drifted her optics back to him. She looked at him with a pleading expression. She silently supplicated as her claws clenched with anticipation.

"Is there something you want, _Brightplate?_ " he slyly asked. Darkstrike glared at him and bit her lip.

"You're a piece of slag," she spat at him. His mechs and him laughed at her bold words. RocketShield extended the cube near her faceplates and took it away when she leaned into it. With a wicked glint in his optics, he gulped down the remainder of her energon. She looked at him in complete and utter disbelief.

The bell successfully interrupted them.

RocketShield shot her look of contempt and he gave her another remark to confirm his superiority to her.

"Come on. Training hasn't even started and you're on the ground already... _Brightplate_." he spoke. Seeing that Darkstrike wasn't going to get up, he hummed in triumph.

She sulked on the ground and watched all the mechs left to go train. The femme deflated and took the discarded cube in her servos. All of them left, but Darkstrike wanted to stay on the ground. The humiliation was familiar yet still unbearable.

No tears of coolant left her optics as she stood there.

She had survived her first battle for _this_? Her wounds began to ache in reminder.

It seemed the she wasn't the only one that stood there though. A shadow loomed over to her, and Darkstrike refused to look up to see who it was.

Though, there was a significant change in her spark.

This made her look up. The mech that stood before her was enough to strike more fear into her in a nano-klik than RocketShield would be able to do in a lifetime. Darkstrike backed up into the wall.

Soundwave looked down at her coldly.

"Disappointing," he stated. He turned away and began walking towards the door. Darkstrike felt an immense amount of shame well up in her. For some reason, when Soundwave told her this, it made her feel even more mortification.

She stood up quickly and stepped closer to him. Soundwave heard her and turned around to look at her. The femme violently threw the cube at a wall, causing it to shatter.

"What would you have expected me to do?" she asked. Soundwave lifted his arm and pointed a sharp finger at her.

"Fight. Submitting means failure. Failure means death," he responded. Well if she didn't feel anymore useless, his words certainly hit the mark. Soundwave didn't say anything else to her. He exited the room and left her to her thoughts.

Darkstrike also walked out of the room, keeping his harsh suggestions in mind.

It was true, Soundwave had called her disappointing, and for the mech to downright say it, meant that it was _truly_ disappointing. But his suggestions were either meant to criticize her or help her, she sincerely hoped it was the latter.

Darkstrike knew she wasn't useless, others just didn't seem to see that. If someone was _finally_ giving her useful advice, she would take it. The valuable datapad would allow her succeed. No longer would would she be _disappointing_ , as Soundwave so kindly put it. She would be something more.

She would be a Gladiator.

* * *

For the next couple of orns Darkstrike studied her datapad rigorously. Every single character and Cybertronian letter was not missed by her keen optics. Her claws typed with the only goal of discovering the knowledge inside and out of the datapad.

However, practicing the moves was a lot more complicated than it was reading them. It was quite complex the way she had to bend to the right angle or sharply turn to the best precision she could attain. Adjusting her entire body was difficult and this reminded her just how sturdy her joints had to be.

Though, throughout all, Darkstrike couldn't let RocketShield watch her practice this. There was nothing wrong with it; all moves were allowed onto the arena, but Darkstrike wanted to wait at just the right time to wipe off that arrogant slagger's grin. Oh, and she hoped the moment would be glorious.

Darkstrike hoped everyone would see it, perhaps even Soundwave. That was, if the mech decided to be around her at the time.

The mech hardly spoke with her anymore. Not that it was different than before.

If Soundwave didn't care for her, she shouldn't care for him. If he decided that he wouldn't show himself to her then Darkstrike should accept it.

She decided that she would ignore the fact that the mech would brush her off in the hallways. The only time Darkstrike _really_ wanted to have his attention was when she'd prove herself.

She would do it in one of her concurring fights. If all went well, she'd try it in her next fight, which happened to be in an orn and a half.

The femme had actually been in quite a few battles in the past couple of orns. Contrary to what others thought, it was not easy learning the moves, let alone perfecting them. Especially for her: a femme with no actual past experience in strategy or battle. It was a miracle that she had been able to get as far as she did.

As she slowly moved up in the ranks, her opponents got tougher to fight. While the mechs varied in size, it still was harder to take down larger bots. Darkstrike was not going to lie, there were some pretty nasty gashes and wounds as a result of her inexperience.

There was the aching pain that followed afterwards. There was the stinging of leaking energon. There was the volts of pain that traveled up her systems, and not to mention the sore joints.

That was what she felt at the moment. It had only been a few kliks since Darkstrike had won a fight out in the arena. She had overexerted herself to the point where winning was her only option. Heck, she had almost been desperate enough to use the moves she had not yet perfected. For victory, it was worth it.

The femme had wanted to win so badly because of her last fight. Darkstrike had lost and RocketShield took full advantage of it. He taunted her and even tried to convince the owners that she was unfit for battle. However, the owners were still convinced that she was still useful in the arenas. Losses were not uncommon among them.

Darkstrike knew he had lost because the mech she battled against had much more strength than she did. At least, that was what she told herself.

The femme had all her weapons, but she had still felt like something had been missing that cycle. However, the flier had everything... except great strength, that is. That meant that she had to rely on only her sword, something that didn't help her as much as it should have. Unfortunately, the con to practicing her battle moves, meant limited time for practicing with her weaponry. So, seeing as she had the disadvantage, Darkstrike had lost.

Yes, she had been brutally mocked by it, mostly by RocketShield. Though, she had chosen silence as her best remark. The mechs had stopped after they saw that they couldn't get the femme riled up.

It was then that Darkstrike realized the mechs weren't taunting her in particular. They seemed to taunt every mech that lost, but RocketShield was purposely being hard on her.

Darkstrike threw the thoughts in the back of her processor as she limped out of the arena. She needed to go to the medic urgently. The gash on her abdomen and top inner thigh seemed to be leaking the most energon. It was a miracle that she had not offlined right there.

She would offline soon if she didn't receive any energon.

Darkstrike turned on a corner of the hallway. _Forget the medic. I need energon._

* * *

The femme had redeemed herself.

That was all Soundwave could say after hearing about her last battle and how it went down in flames for the femme. Megatronus, who had watched the fight, told him that she hadn't been as skilled with her sword as first predicted.

Soundwave knew why that was. He was keen enough to catch the femme performing moves that were only familiar to him. She lacked grace and precision, but he saw progress.

It was interesting to watch her struggle. The way her frame twisted and turned to degrees suggested she was probably not accustomed to exerting herself. It pleased him knowing that Darkstrike was realizing that success required laborious joors of effort.

Despite watching her attempts, it was that fights that would determine whether it had all paid off or not.

The only aspect that irked him was the fact that Darkstrike let RocketShield command her and treat her disgrace her integrity. She had done nothing to retaliate _._ It discouraged him.

Soundwave never intervened. He wouldn't bother; it wasn't his problem. Everybot to himself was a common motto around there.

If there was a reason why Soundwave even regarded the subject, it was because RocketShield needed to know that he was as worthless as the common mech beside him. Soundwave hadn't done it himself because he would not stoop the the mech's level to prove that he was superior. It was not worth his time.

Darkstrike on the other servo, wouldn't have to stoop to any level, in fact, she'd probably gain some rank.

Though, that cycle had yet to come; the femme still refused to defend herself properly, and for that Soundwave did not speak to her. It didn't seem to have pleased Darkstrike; he kept hearing the thoughts that emanated from her. They were not positive thoughts. They were thoughts of anger, denial, and even hurt.

He preferred not to dwell on the uselessness of that last one.

Either way, it intrigued Soundwave that the femme had a new thought for him, even when he made the slightest of glances at her. Glances that he had _allowed_ her to see, of course. Unbeknownst to the femme, he constantly watched her to keep up with her success.

He attended most of her fights. Only _most_ because if he attended all of them, some were sure to notice and become suspicious.

It had been ironic considering he did not attend the fight where Darkstrike had lost. He did not know who she had been fighting against her that cycle but he knew that one of them had been the victor.

It had not been her. When the fight was over, he had seen the medic quickly rush through into the arena. The other Gladiators were leaving the stands and they had murmured amongst themselves about the energon that had splattered.

Soundwave was not alarmed. He didn't find until Megatronus had exited the stands.

_"Soundwave!" Megatronus called out. He turned his helm to the other Gladiator's direction to acknowledge his presence. Soundwave thought about walking away. He decided against it. "Soundwave, I didn't see you. We usually both survey the femme's fights."_

_"Not currently," he responded. Megatronus chuckled._

_"Yes, I noticed. Though, I wouldn't have recommended you to see it," the silver Gladiator remarked._

_"Reasons?" he asked._

_"Your femme lost for the first time." Megatronus replied. Soundwave instinctively turned his helm to view the arena behind Megatronus._ _"Not to worry, the medic came to her aid. Your femme will be repaired. I'm sure the owners aren't pleased that their main currency-maker is injured. Anything that threats their souce of money is a direct threat to them." Soundwave disliked the way Megatronus dubbed the femme 'his.'_

_"Femme: Not mine." he clarified, putting more emphasis in his tone of voice. Megatronus let out a laugh._

_"Apologies, I did not mean to offend you. I merely assumed that she had caught your optic..."_

Soundwave knew he couldn't let himself slip like that again. Megatronus had somehow found out that the femme had sparked a tiny, tiny interest in him. Soundwave was the one who observed everything, never the one being observed. Megatronus was too keen, and he realized that he was have to be more alert when around the other silver Gladiator.

Though, that was far from the point.

He had left the femme for recovery. Soundwave had been indifferent about her quick return to the rec room. RocketShield however, had not given his taunting a break, but instead enhanced it. He saw her weakness and quickly attacked it. Though, instead of dealing it like the femme usually would, she angrily took her energon cube and limped out of the room, not before telling RocketShield that he could frag himself.

Once she left, the room reverberated with chuckles and laughs all directed at RocketShield. The mech had fumed off to an unknown location, leaving the spectating bots behind.

Soundwave closed his thoughts as he arrived closer to the arena entrance where Darkstrike was supposed to exit. The fight had ended a few kliks ago, and he had watched her victory. Watching her redeem herself was interesting, and he had more or less enjoyed it. Though, the femme had quite a few injures. Energon was visible on her frame and she walked with a limp.

As Soundwave reached the entrance, he saw that the door had been left open. A trail of energon suggested that the femme had headed towards another direction. He followed the trail, knowing that the femme couldn't have gone far.

* * *

Darkstrike urgently needed energon. Unfortunately for her, she had already gotten her fill earlier that cycle. She knew that the mech would not give her anymore. He'd probably make her do a little 'favors' before he would give her some. Darkstrike wasn't interested. So, she had limped off to see if she had any left in her room where she had taken some of her cubes.

She doubted it, but there was not much else to do. The medic took forever to address her wounds, and Darkstrike was not going to lie around helplessly like last time. Especially not in front of those other mechs and femmes.

Just as the femme took a step forward, she realized that she mistimed it. The femme collapsed on the metal floor. She groaned and closed her optics as her vision blurred. She shook her helm and struggled to sit up against the wall.

If she had just _waited_ for the medic to come, she wouldn't have been in this situation. But her insatiable thirst for energon to fuel her empty tanks was stronger than patience. She clutched her abdomen and let her legs lay flat on the floor. She vented heavily as she sat there. Darkstrike let her helm lean back and press against the wall.

Red optics opened as she heard pedesteps come closer to her location. Darkstrike hoped with all her spark that it was not RocketShield. She prayed to Primus that out of all the mechs, it wouldn't be him. Her claws clenched onto her wound as she waited with anticipation.

Coming into view was the unmistakable high-ranking Gladiator, Soundwave.

Darkstrike almost wished that it had been RocketShield. She didn't want Soundwave to see her in such a vulnerable state. It would only serve to disappoint him and her spark didn't seem to want that.

She was leaking and completely at his mercy, not that she wasn't before, the only difference now was that she had no energy to defend herself. Darkstrike couldn't help but think of the possibility that he would take a glimpse at her, shake his helm in dismay, and leave her to herself. Part of her was expecting it.

He slowly walked over to her. Each step made a soft thump in the empty hallway.

Much to her utter shock, the mech knelt beside her and used her sharp fingers to grasp her chin and roughly bring it so that she looked at him. As soon as her optics connected with his visor, she couldn't tear them away.

"Femme: Injured. The medic is not in this direction. Actions: Unintelligent," Soundwave told her. She felt her spark burn with embarrassment, more because she knew he was right.

"I am in need of energon," she spoke, her words sounding hoarse and shaky. Soundwave backed up, and for a moment, she thought he would leave. Much to her surprise, he took out a blue cube from his subspace.

It was his energon. She knew it was his. Whose else could it be?

He placed the cube up to the femme's lip components, and Darkstrike's optics widened completely. She had definitely not been expecting this, much less from this mech. Questions began to fill her processor, but before she could contemplate, Soundwave had pushed the cube up to her lips. Darkstrike eagerly drank, also noticing how this energon tasted a little better than hers.

Soundwave had let her drink his whole cube and when there was nothing, he tossed it aside. Darkstrike, now having her fill, had better vision. She looked at Soundwave with wide red optics.

His helm was tilted down as he was searching for her wounds. He grabbed her servo that was clutched on her abdomen and quickly removed it. Darkstrike felt her cheeks flushing at the feeling of his servo momentarily grab hers. She ignored the feeling and she looked away in slight shame as Soundwave looked at her wound.

She wasn't too happy that she had let her opponent take a hit at her that deep, especially at her protoform.

Soundwave looked down on it and studied the gash. His servo tentatively touched the energon above it, but Darkstrike hissed, though Soundwave didn't flinch. His helm turned up to see her pained expression.

"I will proceed," he stated. Darkstrike gritted her denta again but didn't protest. She did, however, emit another groan filled with pain as he addressed the severity. Seeing the femme squirm under his grasp, he gave a firm command, "Soundwave will proceed."

He subspaced something else and before Darkstrike could object, he had pressed the substance on to her leaking wound. She flinched and grunted at his none-too-soft touch. She wasn't complaining, though, the mech had already taken the time to treat it. Gentleness was not needed nor asked for.

Then, Soundwave's servo wandered onto her thigh. He lightly gasped the bottom of it, making Darkstrike gasp and her optics to suddenly open wide. Just as he began to pull her thighs open, Darkstrike immediately pressed them together in slight haste. She looked at him nervously as her cheeks flooded with blue.

"Let me assess injuries efficiently," he spoke. His rough voice seemed to have eased her a bit and she had let him open her thighs. Darkstrike felt a different type of vulnerability as she felt almost completely exposed to him. It made her spark feel warm and she responded by telling it to shut up.

Soundwave traced his servo up her inner thigh up to the gash she near the top. He was suddenly gentle. Darkstrike refused to admit that she liked the way his sharp fingers delicately brushed over her protoform with such care. Such a dangerous touch may or may not made her spark purr.

He took out more of the substance from his subspace. He rubbed it carefully on her wound, causing Darkstrike to shiver instead of feeling the pain or stinging. When he was finished, his touch lingered as he grasped her thigh completely with his servo.

"Oh my Primus," Darkstrike choked at the was a pleasant sensation even through her numbing wounds. Though, this made any other part of her armor and protoform much more sensitive. Soundwave refused to let go of her thighs. As Darkstrike made an attempt to close them, his grip tightened on her, making her gasp out.

"Soundwave, I-I am grateful... but I-I do not think that you should trouble yourself with," Darkstrike swallowed, "Assessing my injuries."

"Your health: Assumed to be important to you," he said. Darkstrike averted her gaze. Glowing red optics illuminated her white, almost silver faceplates.

"Yes, but that is only my problem. Not your burden, and I shouldn't assume that you care," she said fearfully down-casting her optics entirely.

Soundwave was quick to dig into her mind and read the thoughts that were on the surface of her processor. The femme was half honest with the response he gave her. Part of the other reason she that didn't want him aiding her in such a close proximity. The femme kept trying to deny to herself that she didn't like him at all, or that didn't feel the tingle of her spark every time he touched her in such a way.

It made his spark glitch yet again. It was a feeling, while not entirely displeasing, had been completely unwanted by him. The femme was easy to manipulate but Soundwave didn't see any other reason why he should invest in it if not for entertainment.

His servo slid from her thigh making a bright blue blush rise on the femme's silver faceplates. He stood up, grasping the femme's arm, pulling her up with him. She complied and grunted in supporting herself.

Though she didn't dare lean into him, he noticed. That was good; he wouldn't have let her. His hold on her was sufficient enough to make sure Darkstrike did not collapse again. However, even in the contact with the femme, he made sure that his stance told her that she could not overstep boundaries.

Darkstrike was quick to learn this seeing as she didn't touch him in any form.

"Thank-"

"Gratitude unnecessary," Soundwave quickly interjected. Darkstrike deflated a bit and almost leaned away from the mech.

"Yes, I figured. Though, I just wanted to-..." she trailed off as Soundwave turned his helm in her direction. The femme suddenly quieted her vocals and lowered her gaze towards the floor.

"Proceed," Soundwave said. Darkstrike hesitated but continued.

"You say that gratitude is unnecessary because you think nothing of this. Maybe part of me thinks of it as that too, but when it's my own life threatening to extinguish... it... it matters a little more."

"Matters more than a common mech?" he asked.

"No, I didn't mean it like that, but you can interpret it like that. Sometimes your own life is a bit more important over a stranger's."

"Survival: Selfish?" Soundwave asked. Darkstrike was increasingly getting nervous, unsure of how to answer his question. She was afraid to give him a wrong answer; Soundwave was still capable of anything at the moment. Another squeeze of his servo made her answer.

"No. Survival is not selfish. It is simply a matter of not taking the time to save someone else's spark when yours has the same possibility of perishing too. It's a matter of being smart enough to worry about yourself instead of others."

"Darkstrike's reasoning: Suggests Soundwave should discard you since you do not concern me."

She choked and nervously squirmed as he tightened his grip even more.

"That's not what I meant," Darkstrike stuttered.

"Query: Would you assist Soundwave if about to perish?" he asked. Darkstrike's optics widened largely and would have frozen if Soundwave hadn't have pulled her forward. It was a trick question. He knew it and she knew it...

What would she respond? Should she tell him the truth, or lie? This could easily escalate. Would he get offended...? Well... he's bound to get offended with either response. Maybe... maybe if she gave him the response he was looking for... he would be less offended. Darkstrike hoped so.

Mustering up any courage, she looked straight at him, her faceplates _almost_ showing nothing.

"No," Darkstrike responded. Soundwave turned his helm to look at her. This made her turn away immediately.

Soundwave knew that the femme's response was to be expected, but there was an uncertainty in him that fueled him to pluck the real information from her mind. Soundwave's mind easily and unnoticeably invaded hers. It didn't take him long to see that she was lying. The femme was lying for him, to satisfy him.

That meant the femme would actually save him, contrary to her previous bold statement. It was almost befuddling how her opinion changed when the Cybertronian about to perish was him.

Just as the medic's room came in their view, Darkstrike made a move to leave Soundwave's grasp. Yet, he pulled the femme closer to himself. He lowered himself into her audio and uttered the last few words before he left her to herself,

"Your lies are obliged but the truth is preferred."


End file.
